And telling a story, I suppose, is like winding a skein of spun yarn- you sometimes lose track of the beginning. — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
A pine needle fell in the forest. The hawk saw it. The deer heard it. The white bear smelled it — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“Where is it?" I asked, willing him to tell me. He laughed suddenly, and I could hear the full-throated, grating sound of the white… — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“I crossed the room to him. "I love you," I said in a rush, afraid I would change my mind. "Charles," he replied.” — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“I knelt by the design. Yes, there was the sun rising. But the white form I had always thought to be a cloud was… — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“That indeed would be a great accolade," Monodonock stuttered, his hands frenziedly plucking at his spikey hair, "but the more I think on it,… — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
And telling a story, I suppose, is like winding a skein of spun yarn- you sometimes lose track of the beginning. — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
It was the difference between walking with a stranger and walking with your heartmate. It was the difference between working for duty and working… — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“They journeyed far and the white bear said, "Are you afraid?" "No," she replied. "I am not afraid.” — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“Neither Rose nor Charles liked to talk much of their adventures with the trolls, but some of the so-called "softskins" whom they had brought… — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“Here. After so long waiting. Her purple eyes. Torn cloak. Skin pale, sheer as ice. Exhausted. But unafraid.” — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
“That's the trouble with loving a wild thing: You're always left watching the door. But you also get kind of used to it.” — Edith Pattou Copy Share Image
