Sarah Connell’s Reviews > The Outskirter's Secret > Status Update
Sarah Connell
is on page 208 of 333
“She sat in the gloom. A shaft of sunlight slanted in through the entrance, carving from the shadows a single canted block of illumination, lying across the bright-patterned carpet. Colors glowed, brilliant: sharp planes, intricate cross-lines. There seemed to be two carpets: a shadowy one covering the entire tent-floor, and another, smaller one lying before her, constructed purely of colored light.”
— Sep 13, 2025 08:54AM
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Sarah Connell
is on page 288 of 333
“He sat long in thought; and it came to Rowan that he would attempt to express a very abstract idea, and that the small words with which he was most familiar would prove insufficient tools.
"In the morning," he said hesitantly, "the sun comes up. …To sleep or to rise…to decide this, you must first know one thing: that the sun is up. In life, this is always true. In order to do, you must know."
— Sep 17, 2025 06:37PM
"In the morning," he said hesitantly, "the sun comes up. …To sleep or to rise…to decide this, you must first know one thing: that the sun is up. In life, this is always true. In order to do, you must know."
Sarah Connell
is on page 287 of 333
“It is strange. It inspires strange thoughts."
She pulled her gaze from the object and turned to study the seyoh, speculatively. "You seem to regard that as good."
He smiled, slightly. "I thought long on it... I thought in a strange fashion. It is useful, to think strangely. You see the world in a different way, become hard to fool.
— Sep 17, 2025 06:33PM
She pulled her gaze from the object and turned to study the seyoh, speculatively. "You seem to regard that as good."
He smiled, slightly. "I thought long on it... I thought in a strange fashion. It is useful, to think strangely. You see the world in a different way, become hard to fool.
Sarah Connell
is on page 259 of 333
“The wind across the sky flaps hummed two deep tones, rising and falling in tandem. Outside, the redgrass rattled, tapped, hissed. In her months in the Outskirts, Rowan had forgotten that the redgrass sounded like rain. Now it became rain again: the Outskirts themselves, daring to tell a lie to a steerswoman. False information, covering secrets."
— Sep 16, 2025 05:47PM
Sarah Connell
is on page 213 of 333
“Outside, the night was cool and clear…The tents were faint shapes, difficult to discern; their black star-shadows seemed to hold more substance than they themselves did. Rowan passed in and out of those shadows, half expecting to feel their edges on her skin, like the touch of the water's surface on a rising swimmer's face. The fire pit was cold, with the ancient, deserted smell of dead ashes.”
— Sep 13, 2025 08:56AM
Sarah Connell
is on page 205 of 333
“Light slowly grew, the flat pastel of predawn. People and objects seemed to wear the pale colors like paint on their surfaces and skins. The only tones that held any depth were the sea gray of Averryl's eyes; the rich earth brown of Bel's; and the fragmenting, shifting blue of the jewels on Bel's belt, glittering as she moved, testing the shapes of the signals she learned.”
— Sep 13, 2025 08:51AM
Sarah Connell
is on page 75 of 333
“The world was a swirl of red and brown, shifting and shuddering, and the air was awash with sound: an endless hissing and a patternless pattering chatter that filled her ears completely and overflowed, taking up residence in her buzzing skull. …
She came to a stop like a ship at sea and turned into the wind, sails luffing. She rocked against nonexistent swells.”
— Sep 04, 2025 11:09AM
She came to a stop like a ship at sea and turned into the wind, sails luffing. She rocked against nonexistent swells.”
Sarah Connell
is on page 62 of 333
“…hills ranged, broken by two staggered ridges, then falling faintly lower as they reached out toward the horizon. A far lake sparkled silver in the distance, edged with looming dark shapes…
The air held a scent, like cinnamon and sour milk, over the freshness of departed rain. The tent beside Rowan wafted up a miasma of must and goat. Somewhere someone was roasting meat.”
— Sep 04, 2025 10:51AM
The air held a scent, like cinnamon and sour milk, over the freshness of departed rain. The tent beside Rowan wafted up a miasma of must and goat. Somewhere someone was roasting meat.”
Sarah Connell
is on page 32 of 333
“The silence…seemed endless, holding within it all the time needed for the mind to reach across the wide world, across time and history. She felt empty, but not diminished, as if all that lay in her heart had left her body to become water, sky, the air itself.”
— Sep 04, 2024 03:00PM
