Shadows for Silence in the Forests of Hell

by Brandon Sanderson

Though the White Fox doesn’t go for the small-timers—and no offense, friend, but you seem pretty small-time.” His friend grew more nervous. What had he done?

Don’t kindle flame, don’t shed the blood of another, don’t run at night. These things draw shades.

A simple nosebleed or issue of blood wouldn’t draw the shades; they wouldn’t even notice. It had to be the blood of another, shed by your hands—and they would go for the one who shed the blood first.

She wasn’t weak, she was just . . . normal. A woman could be strong without having the emotions of a brick.

“What would it take?” she asked. “For you to see a miracle instead of a coincidence?” “It would take a miracle, obviously,” Silence said, picking up her knife. “Instead of just a coincidence.