When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain (The Singing Hills Cycle, #2)

by Nghi Vo

We had always kept our home in the sweetest of silence, broken only with a dropped spool of scarlet thread or a soft cry from your lips early in the morning. Now your departure crashes like a thunder, and the timbers of the house shake with the force of the space you left behind.

When you love a thing too much, it is a special kind of pain to show it to others and to see that it is lacking.

“But you never questioned it? Not once?” “It was told to me when I was very young. We question those stories less.” “So question it now,” said Sinh Loan,