Neither Goyl Nor Men Lived

Sometimes It's A Good Thing We Don't Remember Things Half As Well As Books Do.

From The Tower Battlements, Dustfinger Looked Down On A Lake As Black As Night, Where The Reflection Of The Castle Swam In A Sea Of Stars. The Wind Passing Over His Unscarred Face Was Cold From The Snow Of The Surrounding Mountains, And Dustfinger Relished Life As If He Were Tasting It For The First Time. The Longing It Brought, And The Desire. All The Bitterness, All The Sweetness, Even If It Was Only For A While, Never For More Than A While, Everything Gained And Lost, Lost And Found Again.

What Are Stories For If We Don't Learn From Them?

The Night Belongs To Beasts Of Prey, And Always Has. It's Easy To Forget That When You're Indoors, Protected By Light And Solid Walls.

It's The Same In Real Life: Notorious Murderers Get Off Scot-free And Live Happily All Their Lives, While Good People Die - Sometimes The Very Best People. That's The Way Of The World.