More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
I ventured to ask, “About that errand…” “So,” Ragnar said by way of answer. “I don’t suppose you’re still a witch.”
Eitr. There was a word I hadn’t heard in a while. A complicated word that could mean anger, or it could mean poison, or it could mean gall, in all the senses of gall—the sort that is spoken, and the sort that burns flesh less metaphorically. But eitr was also the source and the font of all life in the world.
Dragons, it seemed, knew about death and war. But not so much about baking.
In time I will grow old again. All things do. New rulers will build power on the ruins of promise, and they will become corrupt again and kill me.
