Heather Beatty

“The dog, he thought, was wiser and more kindly natured than he was.”
― John Flanagan, The Siege of Macindaw

“Halt," said Will eventually, "can I ask you a question?"
"I think you just did," Halt replied, with the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. It was
an old formula between the two of them. Will grinned, then sighed and became serious.
"Does life always get harder when you get older?"
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"You're not exactly ancient," Halt said gently. "But things have a way of turning out,
you know. Just give them time."
Will made a frustrated little gesture with his hands. "I know... it's just, I mean... oh, I
don't know what I mean!" he finished.
Halt eyed him carefully. "Pauline said to thank you for rescuing her assistant," he said.
This time, he was sure he saw a reaction. So that was it.
"I was glad to do it," Will replied eventually, his voice neutral. "I think I'll turn in. Good
night, Halt."
"Good night, son," Halt said. He chose the last word intentionally. He watched as the
dim figure strode away toward the fire, seeing the shoulders straighten as he went.
Sometimes, life threw up problems that even the wisest, most trusted mentor couldn't
solve for you. It was part of the pain of growing up.
And having to stand by and watch was part of the pain of being a mentor.”
― John Flanagan, The Siege of Macindaw

“It’s a walking cart,” Horace told him. “You get under it, so the spears won’t hit you, and go for a walk.”
― John Flanagan, The Siege of Macindaw

“This one is bigger than the other by at least a quarter,” he said. “That’s perspective,” Will replied stubbornly. “The left one is closer, so it looks bigger.” “If it’s perspective, and it’s that much bigger, your handcart would have to be about five meters wide,” Horace told him. “Is that what you’re planning?” Again, Will studied the drawing critically. “No. I thought maybe two meters. And three meters long.” He quickly sketched in a smaller version of the left wheel, scrubbing over the first attempt as he did so. “Is that better?” “Could be rounder,” Horace said. “You’d never get a wheel that shape to roll. It’s sort of pointy at one end.” Will’s temper flared as he decided his friend was simply being obtuse for the sake of it. He slammed the charcoal down on the table. “Well, you try drawing a perfect circle freehand!” he said angrily. “See how well you do! This is a concept drawing, that’s all. It doesn’t have to be perfect!” Malcolm chose that moment to enter the room. He had been outside, checking on MacHaddish, making sure the general was still securely fastened to the massive log that held him prisoner. He glanced now at the sketch as he passed by the table. “What’s that?” he asked. “It’s a walking cart,” Horace told him. “You get under it, so the spears won’t hit you, and go for a walk.” Will glared at Horace and decided to ignore him. He turned his attention to Malcolm. “Do you think some of your people could build me something like this?” he asked. The healer frowned thoughtfully. “Might be tricky,” he said. “We’ve got a few cart wheels, but they’re all the same size. Did you want this one so much bigger than the other?” Now Will switched his glare to Malcolm. Horace put a hand up to his face to cover the grin that was breaking out there. “It’s perspective. Good artists draw using perspective,” Will said, enunciating very clearly. “Oh. Is it? Well, if you say so.” Malcolm studied the sketch for a few more seconds. “And did you want them this squashed-up shape? Our wheels tend to be sort of round. I don’t think these ones would roll too easily, if at all.” Truth be told, Malcolm had been listening outside the house for several minutes and knew what the two friends had been discussing. Horace gave vent to a huge, indelicate snort that set his nose running. His shoulders were shaking, and Malcolm couldn’t maintain his own straight face any longer. He joined in, and the two of them laughed uncontrollably. Will eyed them coldly. “Oh, yes. Extremely amusing,” he said.”
― John Flanagan, The Siege of Macindaw