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If you bend or tear even a single page, we shall no longer be friends.
With every step we take away from our home, grief braids itself more tightly into the fabric of our deepest selves. And just as I cannot pry my grief from me, discard it, and move on without it, I also cannot let go of my hope.”
My belief is my hope, and hope is the light that shines even on the darkest night.”
“May your ship sail true and your fires burn bright. May your heart think of me while the stars shine their light.” —Traditional Vesperian traveler’s prayer
“Don’t look too close at the woods, my dear, Don’t speak too loud in the night Stay in the glow of our bed, my dear, Keep our candle always in sight.” —Traditional Astavari folk song
“If I am to die soon,” said Navi, her eyes falling shut, “I would like to meet it with the memory of you in my mind.”
To rise, first one must burn.”
“‘Tell me,’ said Morgaine to her love, ‘will you think of me when I am gone? So far from you I must go, such a journey lies before me.’ And Morgaine wept furious tears, ashamed for him to see her, but Gilduin held her hands and kissed them, and looked upon her anguished face, and suddenly Morgaine felt at peace, for in Gilduin’s eyes was naught but love. ‘There is nothing in this world that I could look upon and not then think of you,’ he said, ‘for in you lies everything I have known, everything I am, everything I will be.’” —“The Ballad of Gilduin and Morgaine,” ancient Celdarian epic,
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“In the stars I draw your hair In the moon I find your eyes In my blood I hold your name In my bones I feel your lies.” —Traditional Kirvayan folk song
A queen in his bed, lighting the world awake.
Feel the earth beneath your feet and the wind that moves the trees See the shadows shift across the fields, the tide that pulls the seas Hear the whip of metal forged in prayer The crack and spit of flame Watch the sun climb up the sky and burn— A fire no sword can tame!” —“The Glory of the Seven,” traditional Celdarian war hymn
“My light and my life,” he murmured against her scorching brow. “I love you, I have loved you always, and I will never stop.” It had become a refrain, a song passed between them over the past few days until the words felt like worn grooves.
“To the skies you were born, to the skies you return Back to the high places, the far moon, the cold burn But why did the great song call you so soon, child of the stars? And why oh why did you listen?” —Traditional angelic lament
His face was a tapestry of despair.
