Tress of the Emerald Sea

by Brandon Sanderson

overly fond of collecting cups.

but he had obviously been a clever fellow, for he’d left the Rock soon after naming it and never returned.

They’d teach their children this ever-so-important rule: salt and silver halt the killer. An acceptable little poem, if you’re the sort of barbarian who enjoys slant rhymes.

this is a tale about people who are both what they seem and not what they seem. Simultaneously. A story of contradictions. In other words, it is a story about human beings.

The other girls were obviously right, as they all knew how to be unique—they were so good at it, in fact, that they did it together.

It might be said that Tress had a way with words. In that her words tended to get in her way.

(As it has ever been, gifts are the secret to popularity. That and having the power to behead anyone who dislikes you.)

She was going to have to go rescue Charlie herself.

Well, parents have to say things like that. They’re required to see the best in their children, otherwise living with the little sociopaths would drive a person mad.

The fact that they could likely kill her with ease only made them more captivating.

At that moment they discovered the wonders of outsourcing: the luxury of taking all the credit, doing none of the work, yet reserving someone to blame just in case.

Do you know how many wars could have been prevented if just one person in charge had stopped to think, “You know, maybe we should double-check; perhaps blinking twice isn’t an insult in their culture”?

I’m drowning in bravery, cleverness, and heroism. Instead, kindly give me a little common sense. At that moment, Tress was downright majestic.

I took her hands in mine. I looked her in the eyes. I took a deep breath, trembling. “I once ate an entire watermelon in one sitting,” I told her. “And it gave me diarrhea.”

but all joking aside, Fort was a hundred percent human. Plus at least twenty percent of something else I haven’t been able to determine.

Enjoy memories, yes, but don’t be a slave to who you wish you once had been. Those memories aren’t alive. You are.

the more she learned, the less afraid she had become. It is that way with most topics, as fear and knowledge often play on different sides of the net.