Pete

“Right about here will do,” I decided.  I cast a magelight to illuminate the place.  The first faint glow of dawn was arising along the horizon in the east, but it was still as dark as a miner’s butt.  “When my father heard that I was having a girl, he gave me some advice,” I said, stripping off my mantle.  “As the father of five daughter’s himself, he was full of sage wisdom on the subject of raising girls.” “Are they any different than raising boys?” “Worlds apart,” I nodded.  “But he said there are some things that you can count on with girls,” I continued, philosophically.  “When a young father has a girl, he’s strong.  By the time she grows into a lovely young woman, age takes a toll on a man.  He’s not as strong.  “So . . . when a young woman enters courting age, you might not be as hale as you are now, my friend.  And you will find the nights colder in your bones.” “You . . . you fear I won’t have the strength to show him the door?”  He still looked confused.  And a little drunk.  As big as he is, Arborn is a lightweight when it comes to his cups.   “Oh, no.  When the wrong sort of suitor shows interest in your daughter,” I explained, as I took out the hoxter wand, “then passion can provide the strength you need to contend with the situation.  “But passion fades, when the deed is done.  And then you are left with but your decrepit strength, and a long night of work ahead.”  I manifested two shovels from the hoxter.  “My father told me that the wise father of any daughter has the foresight to dig the hole while he’s still young and strong.  It saves the trouble of a long night, when you are old and weary.” “A hole?  For . . .?” “My father assures me this is effective: for someone who is not impressed by being shown a hole an attentive father dug before he was born and intended for him, at need,” I supplied.  “Mine is behind the stable at the castle.  If a young man is worrisome, I’ll show him the hole, and explain the purpose.  You have three daughters.  That’s three holes.  I’ll help you dig.”
― Terry Mancour, Necromancer

“The invisible bubble containing them rushed forward, and Lindon’s body shuddered with the instinct to protect itself, but Suriel spoke as though reciting a poem. “There are a million Paths in this world, Lindon, but any sage will tell you they can all be reduced to one. Improve yourself.” Lindon was still somewhat worried about offending this visitor from another world, but he dared to say, “That doesn’t sound like enough.” The mountain rushed closer as they descended into its shadow. “It’s been my path for longer than you would believe. Do you think anyone dares to attack my homeland?”
― Will Wight, Cradle: Foundation