A Sorceress Comes to Call

by T. Kingfisher

She wasn’t used to thinking about how she walked, and suddenly the whole concept of walking seemed completely absurd. You fell forward and put out a foot to catch yourself before you sprawled on the ground. And then you did it again? And this was normal?

And if all else fails, at least I’ll have someone to drink myself unconscious with when it all goes to hell.

Words could always be said, but could rarely be unsaid.

Penelope would tell her that whatever she did, she should do it with style.

I promise to try to write a book in the near future where the horse is pleasant and not attempting to murder anyone. Probably. Thanks for bearing with me.