Edith Pattou

A pine needle fell in the forest. The hawk saw it. The deer heard it. The white bear smelled it

— Edith Pattou

“Where is it?" I asked, willing him to tell me. He laughed suddenly, and I could hear the full-throated, grating sound of…

— Edith Pattou

“I crossed the room to him. "I love you," I said in a rush, afraid I would change my mind. "Charles," he…

— Edith Pattou

“I knelt by the design. Yes, there was the sun rising. But the white form I had always thought to be a…

— Edith Pattou

“That indeed would be a great accolade," Monodonock stuttered, his hands frenziedly plucking at his spikey hair, "but the more I think…

— Edith Pattou

And telling a story, I suppose, is like winding a skein of spun yarn- you sometimes lose track of the beginning.

— Edith Pattou

East of the sun and west of the moon.

— Edith Pattou

It was the difference between walking with a stranger and walking with your heartmate. It was the difference between working for duty…

— Edith Pattou

“They journeyed far and the white bear said, "Are you afraid?" "No," she replied. "I am not afraid.”

— Edith Pattou

“Neither Rose nor Charles liked to talk much of their adventures with the trolls, but some of the so-called "softskins" whom they…

— Edith Pattou

“Here. After so long waiting. Her purple eyes. Torn cloak. Skin pale, sheer as ice. Exhausted. But unafraid.”

— Edith Pattou

“That's the trouble with loving a wild thing: You're always left watching the door. But you also get kind of used to…

— Edith Pattou

East of the sun and west of the moon.' As unfathomable as the words were, I realized I must figure them out,…

— Edith Pattou

It is odd, the twists that life will sometimes take. The ewe that you think will give birth with ease dies bringing…

— Edith Pattou

“It was not a monster that lay sleeping on the white sheets. Nor a faceless horror. Nor even the white bear. It…

— Edith Pattou

“She would search for him. In the land that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. But there was…

— Edith Pattou

That's the trouble with loving a wild thing: You're always left watching the door.

— Edith Pattou

The joy I feel is immense; it burns inside me as though I have swallowed a piece of the sun.

— Edith Pattou