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Kindle Notes & Highlights
The Old One’s people believed they belonged to one another, and therefore took care of each other. But as the years wore on and their numbers grew, disagreements turned into division. They forgot how to see each other as equals, no matter the differences. Forgot that those who owned nothing were just as important as those who owned much. Forgot that everyone’s voice mattered. The Old One’s people forgot how to take care of each other.
When I read this, it struck me as life today. I was reading a fairy tale that echoed real life. Sadness is pervasive, but hope can still write a different ending.
She could barely see Dax in the distance, shirtless and heading into the storm. Stupid, foolish boys and their stupid, foolish notions . . .
“It’s not morbid,” she whispered, thinking of the Skyweaver spinning the souls of the dead into stars. Thinking of her own soul, bound so tightly to her sister’s. “It’s beautiful.” She turned her gaze on the two brightest stars in the south sky. The twin stars.
It was such an appealing, well written line that I had to pause to admire it.
“What are souls,” she whispers, “but stars waiting to be born?”
This I feel is truth.
Taking her hand in his, Dax marched her straight through the council, who parted like butter at the mercy of a knife.
“You think love is as fragile as that? Like a stalk of wheat, easily broken in a storm? That’s not what love is.” Dax stepped in closer. “Real love is the strongest kind of steel. It’s a blade that can be melted down, its form changed with every bang of the hammer, but to break it is a task no one is capable of. Not even Death.”
