Evan Peck

“Little lost girl."
He hoisted himself onto a low wall and lit a cigarette. Laurel hesitated before leaving. A spark of her old self flared up.
"Do you enjoy being a creep?"
He returned her gaze without flickering.
"If I wasn't bad, how else would the rest of you know you were good?"
He blew smoke in her face.”
― O.R. Melling, The Summer King

“Have you forgotten how to sing?" murmured the dark-eyed young man who leaned over the rails of the Ha'penny Bridge. His sloe-black eyes went darker still as he brooded on the ancient river.
"When we called you Rurthach you purled like a young stream. What have they done to you?”
― O.R. Melling, The Hunter's Moon

“Elm do grieve
Oak do hate
Willow do walk
If you travel late.

Dana shivered. It was an ominous whisper, cold and unfriendly. At the corner of her eye, she saw a tree move. A weeping willow. Its roots seemed to wade through the soil as if it were water.”
― O.R. Melling, The Light-Bearer's Daughter

“Who are you?" Rosemary said in amazement. She had never seen men like these before. Cloaks of green and brown fell from their broad shoulders and every hand gripped a round shield an evil-looking spear. Beneath the thick yellow hair, eyes glinted hard and wild.
One of the men rode near and peered down at Rosemary. Unlike the rest, he was clean-shaven and pleasant-looking, and she was surprised to see that he was no older than herself. Nonetheless his blond-red hair was bound with golden circlet and he was obviously the leader. He suddenly smiled at her and his eyes were bright with humour and curiosity.
"It is hardly your place to question us, girl."
He reached out and touched her hair.
"Hair like the night...and such strange clothing. But you are fair-faced. Whose slave might you be?”
― O.R. Melling, The Druid's Tune