...sitting And Waiting Is One

No Wonder He Was So Good With Horses, I Thought Blearily, Feeling His Fingers Rubbing Gently Behind My Ears, Listening To The Soothing, Incomprehensible Speech. If I Were A Horse, I’d Let Him Ride Me Anywhere.

There Was A Feeling, Not Sudden, But Complete, As Though I Had Been Given A Small Object To Hold Unseen In My Hands. Precious As Opal, Smooth As Jade, Weighty As A River Stone, More Fragile Than A Bird's Egg. Infinitely Still, Live As The Root Of Creation. Not A Gift, But A Trust. Fiercely To Cherish, Softly To Guard. The Words Spoke Themselves And Disappeared Into The Groined Shadows Of The Roof.

Sometimes,' He Whispered At Last, 'sometimes, I Dream I Am Singing, And I Wake From It With My Throat Aching.' He Couldn't See Her Face, Or The Tears That Prickled At The Corners Of Her Eyes. 'what Do You Sing?' She Whispered Back. She Heard The Shush Of The Linen Pillow As He Shook His Head. 'no Song I've Ever Heard, Or Know,' He Said Softly. 'but I Know I'm Singing It For You.

Lord, Ye Gave Me A Rare Woman, And God! I Loved Her Well.

I'll Leave It To You, Sassenach," He Said Dryly, "to Imagine What It Feels Like To Arrive Unexpectedly In The Midst Of A Brothel, In Possession Of A Verra Large Sausage.