Wanda Pedersen > Recent Status Updates

Even if I have to admit that Grant's logical thinking is often useful, and that he is unfortunately right most of the time, I reserve the right to be annoyed about it.

"What do you think her idea of big fun is?" asks Grant.
I mull it over. "A merry-go-round fueled by cotton candy and Coke."
"The soda or the drug?"
"Yes," I reply.

What happens if I don't go? Will Jack and I keep crossing paths anyway? Will I ruin everything and incur the wrath of the Gifter and get turned into a chicken or something? Would life as a chicken really be so bad?

The backpack was like a clown car of survival supplies.
"Holy shit," Skye whispered. "Why does he have all this stuff ready to go?"
I sighed. "This was all April. I don't think this is what she imagined it being used for. I think it's part of their religion. Emergency preparedness."
"Looks like he's got the prepping down," Meghan said drily. "Just needs a little work on 'thou shalt not kill.'"

It was strangely comforting to see Edd's dour face again. "How goes the restoration work?" he asked his old steward.
"Ten more years should do it," Tollett replied in his usual gloomy tone. "Place was overrun with rats when we moved in. The spearwives killed the nasty buggers. Now the place is overrun with spearwives. There are days I want the rats back."

A man can own a woman, and a man can own a knife, Ygritte had told him once, but no man can own both.

"Who will build these ships, my queen? Where will Your Grace find subjects for her kingdom if the northmen let you have it? Or do you mean to rule over a realm of seals and otters?"
She gave a rueful laugh. "Otters might be easier to rule than men, I grant you. And seals are smarter."

Dolorous Edd had heard the entire exchange. As Bowen Marsh trotted off, he nodded toward his back and said, "Pomegranates. All those seeds. A man could choke to death. I'd sooner have a turnip. Never knew a turnip to do a man any harm."

"Three corns and one roast raven," said Dilorous Edd. "Very good, m'lord, only Hobb's made boiled eggs, black sausage and apples stewed with prunes. The apples stewed with prunes are excellent, except for the prunes. I won't eat prunes myself. Well, there was one time when Hobb chopped them up with chestnuts and carrots, and hid them in a hen. Never trust a cook, my lord. They'll prune you when you least expect it."

"Are you sure this will all go as planned, ma'am?" I asked.
"Sure?" Said Ana, idly reading in her corner. "No, I am sure our quarry shall come. After that I am less certain. People do all manner of dumb shit when cornered."

I had thought myself horse-friendly for many years, and presumed I rode well. Yet, as I mounted Fotia's destrier--a slender, nervy, spotted creature who had made it very clear that he liked me not at all--and grasped my sister's waist as we took off, I was instantly disabused of all these notions.