"Sometimes I still forget to look for the gentler parts of her. For so long all I saw was the strength, standing out like the wiry muscles in her arms or the black ink marking her collarbone with flight."

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Katsa now sat calmly on the stomach of her vanquished foe. "He was handsome," said said. Po moaned. "Was he beat-to-a-pulp handsome, or perhaps just push-down-a-flight-of-stairs handsome?" "I would not push a seventy six year old man down a flight of stairs," said Katsa indignantly.

— Kristin Cashore