Scythe (Arc of a Scythe, #1)

by Neal Shusterman

“But… but I’m only ninety-six,” the woman said.

It was a full flight, but with the lavishly appointed seats of modern air travel, it didn’t feel crowded at all. These days flying was as comfortable as sitting in one’s own living room, with the added perk of live entertainment. String quartets and vocal stylists soared across the skies with a cabin full of contented passengers. Air travel these days was far more civilized than in the Age of Mortality. It was now an exceptionally pleasant way to reach one’s destination. Today, however, the passengers of BigSky Air flight 922 were on their way to a different destination than the one on which they had planned.

Im reading this whe flying spirit

We are not the same beings we once were. So then, if we are no longer human, what are we?

“Excellent feng shui,” he said. “Energy flow is very important in a home so large.”

Me

“I can’t believe you’re being taught by the Scythe Curie. The Grandma of Death!” “Grande Dame, not grandma.”

food enough to feed armies,

Poppy war neds this

“What’s a cold?” asked Citra. “A deadly illness from the mortal age, I suppose.”

Reading this with a cold

“I speak twelve languages fluently,” said Scythe Curie, a bit of pride in her voice.

Ms puente????