Excerpt from Dragons Gather

I still write on Dragons Gather sometimes. Eventually I will have it finished. Here's an excerpt from it. Our hero has discovered that a woman to whom he is attracted is indirectly responsible for the deaths of an entire village.
      
From Dragons Gather

Ireached the camp, my pulse pounding in my head. Feathen was mending a harness and waved to me. I ignored him. Kassler watched from his wagon. Maladora was not in the women's wagon, but Shellia was.
      Shellia looked at me and gasped. "What’s happened?"
      "Where is she?" I snapped.
      "I … she … Stefean, you need--"
      "WHERE IS SHE?" I yelled, stepping toward Shellia.
      She stumbled back. "She went for a walk. Toward the river. You must listen to me!"
      But I was already heading into the forest. The path to the river was easy to follow even in my state. I saw a glimpse of her gown through the brush. I strode to her, my anger overcoming fear. She was sipping a cup of mulled wine as she walked under the oak trees. She smiled at me at first and then frowned as she registered the state I was in.
      "What’s wrong?" she asked.
      “I was in a tavern, my lady,” I said, breathing like I was in a race. “You hear such interesting things in a tavern. Rumors, stories, truths, you hear everything.” I placed a hand on a tree to steady myself.
      “Stefean, what’s wrong?” she said, taking a step toward me.
      “Duntann,” I choked out. “They killed everyone.”
      “What?” she whispered.
      “They. Killed. Everyone!" I ground out.
      “Oh, gods, no,” she whispered.
      “They died because a wizardling was killed there,” I said. “I killed him. I killed him because you used your witchery on me!”
      She was silent.
      “Yes, I know,” I rasped. “I know you are a mind witch. I know what you did in Duntann. I’ve known all along.”
      “Stefean.” But she did not continue.
      “What will you do now, my lady witch?” I asked harshly. “Will you take my memory? If so, then hurry because I do not want to remember this!”
      “It’s ... it’s not your fault,” she said.
      “Then it must be yours!” I hurled my accusation at her.
      “No, no, it’s not our fault,” she said. “The Dreadmen--”
      “They crucified the villagers,” I said. “They hung them upside down on trees and left them to die. Then they burned the fields and forests. Galekarn decided to make an example of them. They murdered everyone to the last man, woman, and child.” I pointed at her. “You killed them.”
      “The Dreadmen killed them,” she said unsteadily. “I am not responsible for their actions.”
      "A pretty argument, my lady," I mocked. “Should we have a soothsayer hold a séance and let you communicate that to the shades of the dead? I wonder how they would feel about it.”
      She threw her cup at me and missed. “What do you want of me?” she yelled. “To feel guilt? I do. To be a slave again? I will never do that!” She brought up a fist. “They held me. They crushed me. It isn’t my fault I was a slave!”
      “You made me kill!” I shouted.
      “It was already in you!” she shouted back. “It was in all of them. All that hate and fear. I could feel it. So much hate and fear. I only released it.”
      "Is that your justification? My gods, those people would have never acted on those feelings. I would have never acted on them. You used your power on me. On those poor, dead villagers. On Shellia--"
      “No, not her,” Maladora cut in. “Shellia helped me willingly. You don’t know her. You don’t know what is in her heart. You don’t know what she believes--"
      “And you do?!” I yelled. “And knowing her heart”--I spat the word--“gives you the right to risk her life? Do you know what the Dreadmen will do to her if they catch us? Do you?”
      Her voice was small. “Yes, I do.” She looked at the ground. “I do.”
      I stopped, horribly aware of how much I didn’t know of her life, of what she had endured as a slave to the wizard. In the quiet, I felt ashamed. My anger faded away. I watched her lovely, still hands. Her hair glinted in the sunlight.
      “If there had been any other way …” she said softly. “I had waited so long for a chance. I took it. I didn’t think … I didn’t want anyone to be hurt. I was afraid of returning to the capital. This was my only chance. The other mind adepts were becoming suspicious of me. I was afraid I would lose the little freedom I had.” Tears ran down her face. “But I did not want others to be hurt. I was only trying to escape. That’s all. I didn’t think they would all be killed. I would have died myself before I would have let that happen, but I didn’t know.” She collapsed to her knees. She wept silently as I stood there.
      “I’m sorry.” I said finally. “You couldn’t have known.”
      I stepped toward her. I couldn’t catch my breath.
      Her emerald eyes met mine.
      I grabbed her arms and raised her up. My world narrowed to her face. The world faded into silence.
      Her eyes were wide and fearful and full of longing. “If you kiss me, how will you know if it is what you want or what I want?” she whispered.
      “My lady,” I said deliberately, “I don’t care.”
      I kissed her cold lips. She was shaking. She pulled away and lowered her head.
      “I will stop if you want me to stop,” I said softly. “Only you must tell me to stop.”
      She lifted her tear-stained face up to me. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
      I kissed her gently and then with more urgency, matched by her own. We fell against each other, hungry, savage. Her mind reached out to mine. I nearly pulled away, but her touch was gentle, an invitation. I gave myself over to it. We were lost together, sharing each other’s pleasure and pain, loss and hope.
      When it was over, we huddled together on the ground on the imperfect bed of our clothes. She held my hand over her breast. I nuzzled in her hair. I was content, but I wanted more of her. I would never have my fill of her. A doubt surfaced. Was she using her witchery on me? Was this passion real? I considered the thought, turning it around to examine its sides, and then I put it down and never took it back up.

Copyright 2010 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

Frustration Friday & A Snippet

      Pardon me while I complain a bit. I am frustrated by the diabetes. I'm trying my best to do all things I'm told to, but my blood sugar continues to fluctuate wildly. I know that this "adjustment" period is what all diabetics go through, but I'm ready for it to be over. And the fluctuation makes me feel so bad. I'd like to point out that I didn't feel this bad before I started taking the diabetes meds. Yeah, I'd have bad days, but nothing like this past month. Sigh. I realize that it's a process, that I'm just going to have to endure it, and that it will get better, but ... Okay, I'm done whining. Let's talk of better things.
      Hey, this is good news. Jean of Rantings and Ravings of an Insane Writer has agreed to give Murder by Dewey Decimal one final proof. This will let the edits and corrections I've made be checked one more time. I'm very pleased. Jean is well known for her sharp eye and intelligent analytical skills. I know MBDD is only going to be better for her assistance.
      Of course, this means that MBDD won't go to Lulu this weekend, but I'm okay with that. I'd rather it be as polished as it can be. I'm eager to hold it in my hands, but I can wait. I'm hoping Jean will be able to read and proof it next week, and then, barring her finding something that requires extensive rewriting, I send it to Lulu next weekend. Then the book should be available from Lulu in July and at other sites (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Borders, etc.) in August. Then I start marketing it. However, that should mean that July will be open for me to spend lots of time in Darkness, Oklahoma. I'm looking forward to returning there.
      For our Friday Snippet today, I thought we'd look at what happened after Stefan and Maladora made love. (See previous excerpt.) Stefan once again shows his almost magical talent for saying and doing the wrong thing. In his defense, he never wanted or expected to fall in love, but he is trying. Stefan, by the way, is one of the Dammed, a man who can sense the wild torrent of magick that fills the earth but can never wield it without dying. It is the torment of his life.

Excerpt from Dragons Gather
Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

      “So what does this mean?” she asked as she buttoned her dress.
       “Mean?” I asked.
       “I’ve ... I don’t know what this means,” she said, a sweep of her hand toward the ground on which we had made love. “Is this just another bedding? Two friends sharing their bodies?” She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to dislodge leaves.
       “Can’t you read my mind?” I asked.
       “I could,” she said. “But I try to not do that unless I am invited. Surface thoughts I can gain easily, but deeper ones take time.”
       “I am not deep,” I said, trying to inject some lightness.
       She looked at me. then continued to dress. “So … it is just that. Will you share this with Jacobi and the others? Should I expect them, also?”
       “No,” I said. “Do not think such a --“
       “Shellia told me that you were lovers once,” she said. “Now you and she are only friends. Are you to be only my friend, Stefean?”
       “I do not understand where this is coming from, my lady,” I said slowly. “We made love. It was not a meaningless coupling. I care for you.” And that was true, I realized. I cared for a mind witch, but ... “We do not know each other well. This caring may grow. Or it may end as friends, and I value my friends deeply. I hope Shellia made that clear.”
       She nodded. “She did. She thinks highly of you.”
       I decided to question Shellia at the earliest opportunity on exactly what she said. “I think a lot of her, also, but she and I are better as friends than lovers.”
       “I have not done this often. I do not know what the rules are,” she said, sounding embarrassed.
       I took her in my arms. “I have not done this many times myself. And I do not think there are rules. We do the best we can. We care about each other as well as we can. We be as honest as we can.” I picked a few pieces of grass out of her hair. “We see how it unfolds.”
       She took a deep breath and looked at me. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
       “What troubles you?” I asked, at a loss.
       She shook her head and turned away. “We should get back. The others will wonder.”
       I took her hand. “Let them. I do not know what saddens you, but my lady, this was a special moment. Do not think that I am not valuing it and you. Look into my mind if you wish.”
       “No, no, I do not need to do that,” she said. She walked away from me. “Let us return.”
       So we walked back together. I didn’t understand, and she didn’t want to -- or couldn’t -- explain.
       At the wagons, she let me kiss her, and then she went into her wagon. I watched her go and stood for a few moments, distressed at her distress.
       I sought Shellia out the next morning. She was sewing red clay beads on a blue scarf.
       “Could we talk?” I asked her.
       She looked at me for a long moment and frowned. “I’m not the one you should be talking to.”
       “I tried,” I said. “But she is avoiding me. I don’t know why.”
       Shellia glanced around the camp. She drew me to the other side of her wagon.
       “She says you know,” Shellia said in a low tone. “What she is.”
       “Yes,” I said. “I remembered her.”
       Shellia nodded.
       “How did you know?” I asked.
       “At first I didn’t,” she said. “I knew she was a slave and she was trying to escape. So I helped her because of that. When she approached us on the way back to the wagons -–”
       “She approached us?” I asked.
       “Yes,” Shellia answered. “You were upset, wild. You told her to leave us alone. You threatened her. She clouded your mind so that she could talk to me.”
       That part I didn’t recall, but I remembered it took a long time to get back to the wagons that terrible night.
       “They killed everyone in Duntann,” I said.
       “I know,” Shellia said. “She told me last night. It wasn’t her fault, but I don’t know if she believes that. She cried for a long time.”
       “Why did you help her?” I asked.
       She pursed her lips and turned her face to stare at the wagon. “My brother was sold into slavery to pay a gambling debt of my father. He was only a child. A beautiful child. He made some sort of mistake –- I never could find out what -– and he was beaten. His trice-dammed owner said he didn’t intend to kill him, but my brother died that night. The owner tried to get his money back. He said it had been a bad investment.” She spat on the ground. “While he was talking to my father -– while my father was offering me as a replacement slave -- I climbed out a window and ran away. I never went back.”
       “I’m sorry.”
       “It was a long time ago,” she said. “I don’t like slavery. I helped her. Hid her in my wagon until we could figure out how to get her into the circus.”
       “How did you find out about her” -- I paused -- “gift?”
       “She told me when we met, but I had already sensed it,” Shellia said.
       “You had a Vision?”
       “No, I sensed it.” She looked at me with a small grin.
       “You’re a--”
       “Oh, no,” she said, plainly enjoying my shock. “I have just a touch of it. Nothing like her. Occasional flashes.” Her face became still. “Just enough to make me miserable.” She grimaced. “But I am better. Maladora has helped me gain some control. She has a good heart, Stefean. It’s also a fragile heart. She has spent her whole life being a slave. She has never had a man that wasn’t chosen for her by her master.”
       “Why would they do that to her?” I asked. “She is -- was a valuable slave.”
       “To keep her in her place,” Shellia said. “It’s better if slaves don’t get too uppity. And some men collect women like butterflies. They want a new experience. She hasn’t talked about it much, but enough that I know she did not sleep with you lightly.” Shellia stared at me. “She has been hurt enough in her life, Stefean. I think she may be falling in love with you. How do you feel about her?”
       “With my hands.” I winked at Shellia, the old joke of Jacobi’s coming readily to my lips..
       She hit me in the arm.
       “Stefean --”
       I cut her off. “I don’t know how I feel about her, but I do like her. It’s just ... I don’t know. I have never really loved a woman. I never had a place in my heart for one.” I was veering into things I would rather not say. I shrugged. “She is a mind witch. I am a Dammed. If we could throw leprosy in there, we would have a full house of things people most fear.”
       Shellia leaned against my shoulder. “I can tell you care for her deeply, Stefean. I wish you could have felt that way about me.” She considered and added, “I wish I could have felt that way about you.”
       “So what do I do?” I asked.
       “Be honest,” Shellia said. “Be different from most men and tell her how you feel. Don’t be afraid.” She looked to the woods.
       “What?” I asked when she was silent for a few moments.
       She jumped as if I had startled her. She smiled and grasped my arm. “Gods smile on you both,” she said. “She said she was going down to the river to collect more stones.” She pushed me along and returned to her sewing.
       I followed a trail down to the river. I waved to two men in a boat. I saw her sitting under a tree. She was holding a stone in her hand.
       She looked up at me as I approached. “I wish I had been here in spring,” she said. “It’s beautiful now, but I would have liked to have seen it then.”
       “We travel this route twice a year,” I said. “We’ll be back to Gottehemeh in the spring.”
       She looked at the black rock in her hand. “I won’t be with you.”
       The words seemed to thunder.
       “Why not?” I asked.
       “You know why,” she said softly. “The longer I stay in Galekarn’s territory, the more chances I give the gods to have a laugh at my expense.”
       “Perhaps,” I said slowly. “But would an escaped slave stay in the same region as her enslavement? Surely they expect you to make for the other territories or for the borders. Why would they look for you in a circus?”
       “I thought of that,” she said. “But a chance encounter could betray me.” She dropped the stone. “A cook or another slave comes to my booth one afternoon. Soon after Dreadmen and wizardlings come. They take me. They burn the wagons, and they kill or enslave you all.” Her face was bleak. “I wish I could stay. These days have been the happiest I have ever known. You … Shellia, Jacobi, sweet Manjarous … even Kassler have given me a home. But I have to go. I can find a stagecoach from here to some other place. You will be safe then.”
       Tears welled in her dark eyes. I touched her face.
       “Stay for now,” I said. “In our route, we will leave Galekarn’s territory. You can make your decision then. Maybe his House will fall in a Mageswar. It happens. Or maybe the Emperor will free all the slaves. It could happen. Or perhaps the gods will come to earth and bring forth Verdana again. All things are possible. But only if you stay.”
       She put her hand over mine and nestled her cheek against my palm.
       “Stay with me,” I said quietly. “I am new to this feeling. It is different with you than any other woman. I will probably do many stupid things, and perhaps you have the right of it when you say that you would be safer and we would be safer if you left, but maybe not. So stay with me. Let me learn how to love you.”
       I ran out of words. She sat still for a while, her body rigid like that of an animal sensing some unseen peril, and then she sighed and leaned against me. We stayed there watching the river until Shellia came to get us for the noon meal.
       That night we slipped away from the wagons. I spread blankets, and we made love slowly, spending time on the curve of our bodies, the unexpected junctions of flesh. What can I tell you of making love to a mind witch? I felt what she felt. She felt what I felt. As our passion deepened, we felt each other feeling what the other felt. Words fail me in this. Strange at first, but never as offsetting as it might sound to one who has not experienced it. We learned instantly what prompted the most enjoyment from the other.
       In this completeness, we could have given each other all we had to offer, but still I held back, kept secret that place where I held my bitterness at being Dammed. She could have easily forced her way in, but she did not, only circled around my heart, sending her love. I could sense her gentle disappointment and her resolve to give me time. How could I explain that while she was precious, my soul burned for the Magick? That there was something in me that love and passion couldn’t reach, couldn’t satisfy? How could she ever understand?

End excerpt. Copyright 2007. No copying or downloading without express written permission.

TGIF and snippett

      Howdy! It's Friday! You can't believe how much I've wanted the weekend to come. Well, maybe you could. I think all working people look forward to two days when we don’t have to descend to our desks and face the vicious public. Yeah, my attitude needs adjustment. A fruity cold drink on a white sand beach would do it. Doesn't that sound nice?
      So how are the formatting, editing, and publishing of Murder by Dewey Decimal coming? you ask. The formatting is mostly done. The editing is awaiting the corrections from my good friend Crystal. (She sent Chapter 1 this morning. Only nine more to go.) Then it will go to Frenzied Feline for one final correction read. Then I'll do more one read myself. Then the final formatting. After that, off it and its covers go off to Lulu.com for publishing. Supposedly 10 to 15 days after that, the book will be ready for ordering. I'll order a copy to check it before I open the ordering to the public. I know thousands and thousands of people are desperately wanting to purchase it, but can't yet because (A) it's not published and (B) they've never heard of it or me. Details, details …
      I have decided to purchase the "Global Distribution Package" from Lulu. All that does is make it possible for people to order it from Amazon, Barnes and Nobel, and their local bookstores. I wasn't going to do that, but my sister pointed out that a lot of my extended family didn't have the Net or computers, but they could go to the local bookstore and order the book. If they do, of course.
      Anyway, that's all the news on that. I don't really have any plans for this weekend other than housework. I have a lot of paperwork and filing to do, and I need to gather all the material for Darkness, Oklahoma and put in one file so that I can start writing on it. I have scenes and notes jotted down in various notebooks, and I'd like to have them all in one place so that I don’t waste so much time searching. And of course, laundry.
      My yard needs work, but it's too muddy to do much. I'd like to make it by a garden center and pick up some potted flowers for my front porch. I just have empty pots there now. It depends on what the weather's like. It's cloudy today, and we're supposed to get more rain. I love all the green in the landscape. It's been a few years since we've had this much rain. It's nice to see all the vegetation and trees in full growth.
      My friend TL is interested in Dragons Gather. Unfortunately, DG is not scheduled to be completed until this winter, but for Friday Snippets, here's an excerpt from it. Our hero has discovered that a woman to whom he is attracted is indirectly responsible for the deaths of an entire village.
      
FRIDAY SNIPPETT

From Dragons Gather
Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

Ireached the camp, my pulse pounding in my head. Feathen was mending a harness and waved to me. I ignored him. Kassler watched from his wagon. Maladora was not in the women's wagon, but Shellia was.
      Shellia looked at me and gasped. “What’s happened?”
      “Where is she?” I snapped.
      “I … she … Stefean, you need--“
      “WHERE IS SHE?” I yelled, stepping toward Shellia.
      She stumbled back. “She went for a walk. Toward the river. You must listen to me!”
      But I was already heading into the forest. The path to the river was easy to follow even in my state. I saw a glimpse of her gown through the brush. I strode to her, my anger overcoming fear. She was sipping a cup of mulled wine as she walked under the oak trees. She smiled at me at first and then frowned as she registered the state I was in.
      "What’s wrong?" she asked.
      “I was in a tavern, my lady,” I said, breathing like I was in a race. “You hear such interesting things in a tavern. Rumors, stories, truths, you hear everything.” I placed a hand on a tree to steady myself.
      “Stefean, what’s wrong?” she said, taking a step toward me.
      “Duntann,” I choked out. “They killed everyone.”
      “What?” she whispered.
      “They. Killed. Everyone!" I ground out.
      “Oh, gods, no,” she whispered.
      “They died because a wizardling was killed there,” I said. “I killed him. I killed him because you used your witchery on me!”
      She was silent.
      “Yes, I know,” I rasped. “I know you are a mind witch. I know what you did in Duntann. I’ve known all along.”
      “Stefean.” But she did not continue.
      “What will you do now, my lady witch?” I asked harshly. “Will you take my memory? If so, then hurry because I do not want to remember this!”
      “It’s ... it’s not your fault,” she said.
      “Then it must be yours!” I hurled my accusation at her.
      “No, no, it’s not our fault,” she said. “The Dreadmen--”
      “They crucified the villagers,” I said. “They hung them upside down on trees and left them to die. Then they burned the fields and forests. Galekarn decided to make an example of them. They murdered everyone to the last man, woman, and child.” I pointed at her. “You killed them.”
      “The Dreadmen killed them,” she said unsteadily. “I am not responsible for their actions.”
      “A pretty argument, my lady, “ I mocked. “Should we have a soothsayer hold a séance and let you communicate that to the shades of the dead? I wonder how they would feel about it.”
      She threw her cup at me and missed. “What do you want of me?” she yelled. “To feel guilt? I do. To be a slave again? I will never do that!” She brought up a fist. “They held me. They crushed me. It isn’t my fault I was a slave!”
      “You made me kill!” I shouted.
      “It was already in you!” she shouted back. “It was in all of them. All that hate and fear. I could feel it. So much hate and fear. I only released it.”
      “Is that your justification? My gods, those people would have never acted on those feelings. I would have never acted on them. You used your power on me. On those poor, dead villagers. On Shellia--“
      “No, not her,” Maladora cut in. “Shellia helped me willingly. You don’t know her. You don’t know what is in her heart. You don’t know what she believes--“
      “And you do?!” I yelled. “And knowing her heart”--I spat the word--“gives you the right to risk her life? Do you know what the Dreadmen will do to her if they catch us? Do you?”
      Her voice was small. “Yes, I do.” She looked at the ground. “I do.”
      I stopped, horribly aware of how much I didn’t know of her life, of what she had endured as a slave to the wizard. In the quiet, I felt ashamed. My anger faded away. I watched her lovely, still hands. Her hair glinted in the sunlight.
      “If there had been any other way …” she said softly. “I had waited so long for a chance. I took it. I didn’t think … I didn’t want anyone to be hurt. I was afraid of returning to the capital. This was my only chance. The other mind adepts were becoming suspicious of me. I was afraid I would lose the little freedom I had.” Tears ran down her face. “But I did not want others to be hurt. I was only trying to escape. That’s all. I didn’t think they would all be killed. I would have died myself before I would have let that happen, but I didn’t know.” She collapsed to her knees. She wept silently as I stood there.
      “I’m sorry.” I said finally. “You couldn’t have known.”
      I stepped toward her. I couldn’t catch my breath.
      Her emerald eyes met mine.
      I grabbed her arms and raised her up. My world narrowed to her face. The world faded into silence.
      Her eyes were wide and fearful and full of longing. “If you kiss me, how will you know if it is what you want or what I want?” she whispered.
      “My lady,” I said deliberately, “I don’t care.”
      I kissed her cold lips. She was shaking. She pulled away and lowered her head.
      “I will stop if you want me to stop,” I said softly. “Only you must tell me to stop.”
      She lifted her tear-stained face up to me. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
      I kissed her gently and then with more urgency, matched by her own. We fell against each other, hungry, savage. Her mind reached out to mine. I nearly pulled away, but her touch was gentle, an invitation. I gave myself over to it. We were lost together, sharing each other’s pleasure and pain, loss and hope.
      When it was over, we huddled together on the ground on the imperfect bed of our clothes. She held my hand over her breast. I nuzzled in her hair. I was content, but I wanted more of her. I would never have my fill of her. A doubt surfaced. Was she using her witchery on me? Was this passion real? I considered the thought, turning it around to examine its sides, and then I put it down and never took it back up.

End excerpt. Copyright 2007. All rights reserved. No copying or downloading without express written permission.

"And sometimes there will be nothing but pain. But pain is good. If you're writhing, you're still alive. As long as you're alive, you've got a chance. It may be more remote than the fartherest star, but it's there. If you can do nothing else now, believe that. And hold on. We need you. Please hold on. The world needs you even if it doesn't know that it does. Hold on. Help is on the way."
-Manjarous

From Dragons Gather

   "What difference does it make what I believe?" I asked. "My belief or lack thereof won't put soup in the pot."
   "It makes a difference to her," Manjarous said. "Sometimes, Stefan, I think you're older than me. You walk along the edge of despair and act like it's the only path."
   "I'm Dammed!" I said harshly. "You can't understand --"
   He barked a laugh. "I'm old, and death is learning my name. Jacobi is scarred. Shellia is nightmare ridden and godstouched. Feathen has been lonely for so long that he can't live any other way. Maladora is a runaway slave. Kassler's only happy when his senses are dulled by drink. Nina and Opel can't replace their brother or heal the wounds that his passing gave them, and we're all lost in a wilderness while a wizard seeks us for gods only know what." He looked at me for a long time. "No one is free of pain, Stefan. Everyone has their failures. You're wasting your life in bitter regret. One day you will wake up as old as me and wonder where your life went."
   I didn't reply. He didn't understand about magick. How I hungered for it. How I needed it. He imagined it was something that I could put aside. I could no more make him understand than I could explain sight to someone who had been born without eyes.
   He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm only telling you this because I care about you, boy. Maladora is a chance for happiness. You need to allow for the possibility of change. She may have fallen for who you are now, but she's going to expect you to grow along with her. If you won't, you'll lose her as sure as dragons fly."
   He waited, but I didn't have anything to say.
   "Well, it's your life," he muttered and then went back into the wagon.

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