She had so deep a kinship with the trees, so intuitive a sympathy with leaf and flower, that it seemed as if the blood in her veins was not slow-moving human blood, but volatile sap.

I thought she had a good heart, though not much respectability- or maybe it was because of that.

Beguildy looked at me over the rim of a great measure of mead. 'Saddle your dreams afore you ride 'em, my wench,' he said.

It made me gladsome to be getting some education it being like a big window opening.

It's the folks that depend on us for this and for the other that we most do miss.

Saddle your dreams afore you ride 'em.