That's it. Words fail. Even the best-threaded and most ornate adornment cannot clothe this age enough in praise. It is beyond the cloth, and beyond the page.

Dear Jo' she said, 'what a day this maybe.' 'It's the end, Mrs. Weaver.' 'Maybe it's the beginning.

But we must think of them not only as they have been but as what they might become.

Because you loved me. Before I was anything. Before I was at all lovable, you loved me. I won't forget.

Almost getting killed is stressful.' Kylen said, wiping his eyes. 'I feel like I've been doing it my whole life.' 'We have so much in common,' Jo said as they resumed their march.

Dear Kyle, you are the great nitwit of the world. Love, Jo Shanks.

I like you, Shanks. You remind me of me - well, me a long time ago.' 'That's pretty insulting,' Jo said, 'but I've heard worse.

What will you do when the war's over?' Kylen asked. The Pilgrim nodded to Jo. 'Probably rebel and try to start my own rival kingdom,

Lord Captain Helmer once said that long speeches before meals are crimes of war.

And the Great Wood did mend; brighter and brighter it shine, with more and more light to share. Mending begat mending, and the healing grew, like a disease in reverse, until the wholeness spread to the edge of every map.