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THE GRAVEDIGGER’S CHILDREN were troublemakers.
First line
“Death is not to be feared,” he said. “But nor can it be forsaken. One must be mindful.”
The forest did not scare her; rather, she wanted to be like it: ageless and impervious, cruel and beautiful. Death could not touch it.
“Death’s something of a frightening thing to most people. They like a bit of distance between them and eternity. And besides, the dead deserve a spot of privacy.”
“Sorry—but how does speaking a name defeat Arawn’s greatest champion?” Ryn scowled and dragged the cup to the middle of the table. “Because names have power. Always have.”
“Yes,” she answered. “I grew up thinking monsters could be slain.” “Ah,” he said. “And I grew up thinking people were the monsters.”
Monsters were unrestrained, unbound, and beautiful in their destruction. They could be slain but they would never be truly defeated. And perhaps, even back then, Ryn thought that if she could love the monsters—then she could love those monstrous parts of herself.
To love someone was to lose them. Whether it was to illness or injury or the passage of time. It was a risk, to love someone. To do so with the full knowledge that they’d leave someday. Then to let go of them, when they did.
