An ominous crash came from the clouds above them, and Raoden felt a wet drop splat against his head. “Fantastic,” Galladon grumbled. “I’m enjoying myself already.
The door slammed open. Vivenna jumped, putting a hand to her chest. Vasher walked in. ‘Start reaching for that sword when you’re startled,’ he said. ‘There’s little reason to grab your shirt, unless you’re planning to rip it off.
Anyway, if there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s this: great success often depends on being able to distinguish between the impossible and the improbable. Or, in easier terms, distinguishing between Popsicles and insanity. Any questions?
Think of the possibilities–if the ash were red, the rivers would run like blood. Black is so monotonous that you can forget about it, but red–you’d always be thinking, ‘Why, look at that. That hill is red. That evil force of doom trying to destroy me certainly has style.
It’s what happens when you shoot someone,” Wayne pointed out. “At least, usually someone has the good sense to get dead when you go to all the trouble to shoot them.
Do not dash if you only have the strength to walk, and do not waste your time pushing on the walls that will not give. More importantly, don’t shove where a pat would be sufficient.
Raoden turned to regard the large Dula. “What does it matter? It’s not like we have anything pressing to do. It’s actually quite pleasant up here-you should just sit back and enjoy it.”
