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But a hunter, a good hunter, possessed patience. He trusted his gut, and he always knew the mind and habits of his prey.
The only time you ever take a shot at last light, boy, is if you’re confident it’s going to be a clean kill shot, or you must be prepared to track down your wounded animal through the dark. Alone. You finish that job no matter what, no matter how many days or nights it takes, no matter how hungry or tired you get, you hear me, boy?
guileless.
Survival is a journey. It is the quest that underlies all Story. No matter the geography, or culture, or era, in one form or another, the story of survival is the same story we listen to, riveted, around the flames of the hunter’s fire.
Ace had saved her. Ace gave her unconditional love. And she gave it back in buckets. Loving had started to mend the dead things inside her.
But sometimes people are broken and don’t know how to mend because they aren’t able to say what they need or deeply want. Sometimes you get to a point in life where you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake and you desperately need to fix it, but it’s so deep and bitterly ingrained you can’t start.”
PTSD sucked. It was a dragon that lived inside her own head, shaking loose more and more nightmarish memories, each one prompting another like dominoes tumbling.
nothing lasted forever, that they must use each moment, each day, as a rare gift. That they must never allow the cloak of hubris and self-indulgence to stop them from appreciating, nurturing, protecting those closest to them.
The familiarity of home always outweighed the danger. Deadly mistake, that.
‘Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.’”
Sometimes you don’t realize that you were missing it until you return.”
reviled.
vestigial
I’d thought hearing them searching for me was the worst. It wasn’t. It was when the silence came, and I knew they’d stopped looking.”
lambent.
goad
Can you pinpoint the exact instant your life first starts on a collision course with someone else’s? Can you trace back to the moment those lives did finally intersect, and from where they spiraled outward again . . .

