They were the cream of the crop, but soon they’d be chaff, scythed from swordsmen into skeletons.

I’m a hoax, a dying boy who’s grown wings.

We are made of awkward.

Wonders have been born before. Sometimes they’ve been worshipped. There’ve been new things over and over, and some creatures have fallen groaning to the ground and others have learned to fly.

Even people who’ve never seen a miracle can believe in miracles.

Why is she here at Herot Hall, where at any second something bad could come down the mountain, or tunnel up from below? Monsters. There’s a whole world filled with monsters. They everywhere.

I think about curses and pirates. Skeletons guarding booby-trapped hideaways.

You’ve never seen surprise until you’ve looked into the eyes of an ascending bovine.

We all know a boy can’t daddy until his daddy’s dead.

Some days I’m just sixteen, and sixteen isn’t what I want to be.