In The Woods Quotes

“Whisper songs from long ago
distant memories of where we have been
and where we are, so far.”
― Endreketta H., Island Impressions: Poems of Daily Life

“Lament's trot soon became a canter. Her canter, a gallop. The forest blurred around them as they picked up speed, blazing through copses and thickets, the rhythm of the horse's hooves drumming like thunder.
Despite the stinging wind crushing past them, it wasn't cold. Heat radiated from Lament's black coat, and when Emeline looked down she found red flames flickering in the horse's mane. Tongues of fire engulfed Emeline's fingers, licking her skin. She jerked hand free, staring in horror. But her fingers were unsinged.
Holy cats!
Was Lament an ember mare?
It was impossible. The wild, unearthly horses were forged of fire and said to be uncatchable. Untamable. In no story she knew had one ever been ridden.
But Emeline had thought shadow skins impossible too.
The pungent tang of smoke smoldered in the air. They were out of the Stain---nothing dead surrounded them here. The forest was lush and green and living. But in the distance, Emeline saw red.
Fire.
It surged toward them from the right, spreading quickly. Emeline was about to cry out in alarm, in case the boy at her back hadn't seen it, when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Hundreds of them. Pummeling the earth in time with Lament's.
Wait.
Emeline squinted into the distance.
It wasn't a forest fire advancing on them. It was a massive herd of ember mares. Their black bodies raged red, like burning coal, and their manes smoldered with bright flames. They were stampeding, headed straight for Lament with no sign of slowing or stopping.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood

“All around them, ember mares rushed alongside Lament. They had never intended to trample her but to join her. The graceful rhythm of their muscular bodies, the thunder in their hooves as they ran...they mesmerized Emeline. Moving as one, they reminded her of a cresting wave. A sea of fire.
And beyond their blazing splendor, all was black.
Night had fallen in the woods.
In the steady rhythm of Lament's gait, Emeline heard assurances she'd been too frightened to hear before. I have you, Lament's hooves pounded out. I am steady and true. I won't let you fall.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood

“When Emeline passed through, she didn't step onto boardwalk, but flagstones. She paused, disoriented. The darkness of the woods morphed into soft, dewy lamplight and the sour-water smell of Bog was replaced by the perfumed scent of late-blooming roses.
They'd stepped out of a swamp and into... a city.
Before her lay a quiet, cobbled street lined by white row houses, many of them creeping with green ivy. The city stretched out, its streets rising and twisting towards the top of a lush green hill thick with trees. Emeline caught glimpses of rust-red rooftops and stone bridges over steep canals, of a white-bricked bell tower and a wide blue lake.
At the crest of the hill, a fortress crowned the city, gleaming like ivory in the starlight.
It was just as Tom had described it.
"The Wood King's palace," she whispered.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood

“I found myself noticing familiar plants and features as we travelled through the woods. Some brownies, for instance, had stone dwellings built into the earth--- closer to cellars than houses, to my eye--- roofed in densely interwoven fern fronds. Doubtless others dwelt in the canopy, for when I looked up, I saw the telltale silver gleam of impossibly narrow bridges connecting the trees like spiderthread. But as we moved away from the castle, I saw less of this glittering architecture, and more of the humble, cellarlike variety. I also noted that I was growing increasingly adept at spotting moss-brownies, as I had begun to call them in my head, for the mossy caps they wore. These small, black-eyed creatures, whose bodies were often covered in moss as well, could be seen peeking at us from behind branches, or sometimes in plain view upon a green stone or bough, where they were surprisingly difficult to detect.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales