Fear Cuts Deeper Than Swords.

His Eyes Were Open Wounds Beneath His Heavy Brows, A Blue As Dark As The Sea By Night.

Trust Is Earned. Like Gold.

Can They Love Without A Word For It?

As Much As I Love Historical Fiction, My Problem With Historical Fiction Is That You Always Know What's Going To Happen.

The White Horse And The Black One Wheeled Like Lovers At A Harvest Dance, The Riders Throwing Steel In Place Of Kisses.