Call Down the Hawk (Dreamer Trilogy #1)

by Maggie Stiefvater

I will not be clapped in a hood, Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist, Now I have learnt to be proud Hovering over the wood In the broken mist Or tumbling cloud. —WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS, “THE HAWK”

Are you sure that a floor cannot also be a ceiling? —M. C. ESCHER, “ON BEING A GRAPHIC ARTIST”

What words he did unsheathe turned out to be knives, glinting and edged and unpleasant

Mistakes were expensive and bullets were cheap.

At night, we used to see stars. You could see by starlight back then, after the sun went down. Hundreds of headlights chained together in the sky, good enough to eat, good enough to write legends about, good enough to launch men at. You don’t remember because you were born too late. The voice was unavoidable and natural, like air, like weather. Maybe I underestimate you. Your head’s full of dreams. They must remember. Does any part of you still look at the sky and hurt?

We used to hear the stars, too. When people stopped talking, there was silence.

You are made of dreams and this world is not for you.