Pedro

“I tried a bite, and found it strangely soft. I’d assumed steak to be a warrior’s meal—but I was accustomed to meat being stringy and tough. That seemed like what a warrior should eat. Not this soft, melting pillow-meat.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Defiant

“Who were you going to assassinate, anyway?” he asked. “You were ten.” “Ninjas,” I said. “Gran-Gran had been telling stories, and…well, I assumed my future would include far more ninjas than it has.” “I might be able to fix that,” Hesho said, hovering down beside me. “Assuming the translator has the right term, in our language, for the ancient warrior assassins of lore.” “You have ninjas?” I asked him. “Kitsen ninjas?” “Indeed,” he said. “As the Masked Exile, I am technically part of their tradition. It’s not as practical an art as the stories make it sound—more a method of training the mind and soul. But as we bring peace to mind and soul, we learn to bring stillness to the world around us.” I was barely listening. Fifteen-centimeter-tall. Furry. Ninjas. Scud. The universe was awesome after all.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Defiant

“I’m almost ninety, you know. I was starting to think I wouldn’t get to tear down any galactic empires in my lifetime, which would have been positively tragic.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Defiant

“The raging river is never kind to the lone leaf.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Defiant