And it was a secret thing, of sorts. I have always had a weakness for secrets.

Celean looked at me for a moment, the hint of a serious line between her pale eyebrows. Then she laughed brightly and brought up her hands. “I am Celean,” she proclaimed. “My mother is of the third stone. I am Adem born, and I am the one who will throw you to the ground.”She was as good as her word.

See a woman pale as snow?Silent come and silent go.What's their plan? What's their plan?Chandrian. Chandrian.

In closing, she advised me to drink more water, get some sleep, and suggested that in the future I refrain from strenuous physical activity in a hot room the day after falling off a roof.

Si miramos el fuego es porque parpadea, porque resplandece. Lo que atrae nuestra mirada es la luz, pero lo que hace que un hombre se acerque al fuego no tiene nada que ver con su resplandor. Lo que te atrae del fuego es el calor que sientes cuando te acercas a él. Con Denna pasaba lo mismo.

Todos nos convertimos en lo que pretendemos ser.

A skilled observer might notice there was something his gaze avoided. The same way you avoid meeting the eye of an old lover at a formal dinner, or that of an old enemy sitting across the room in a crowded alehouse late at night.

This isn't the hand of some swooning princess who sits tatting lace and waiting for some prince to save her. This is the hand of a woman who would climb a rope of her own hair to freedom, or kill a captor ogre in his sleep. And this is the hand of a woman who would have made it through the fire on her own if I hadn't been there. Singed perhaps, but safe.

so höre denn, was zu hören lohnt: es fürchte der weise die nacht ohne mond.