What happens when time falls asleep?
What happens when I can't dream?
Do I lose my grip of reality?
Or do I find myself finally free?

When did I stop flying
Just to find I'm falling?
When did I realize
That I've lost it all?
What will I find if I
Ever return to ground?
Will I someday
Finally be found?

Chance looked down at his hands. They were weathered and well-used before he woke up in the care of the Al-Izzes - who, at the time, also had to cross the border to Destrea to escape the cruelty in Úda - so there wasn’t a way he could be an aristocrat. No, Caislín was dead wrong about him.
“Nevertheless,” he mumbled to himself, now locked in a jail cell until the morning. “Sleep is what I need.”

She only had her mind set on transporting the milk.
“This is the last time I ask for your help, Tesni,” Wynne growled as she hobbled from the dairy stables to the kitchen door under the weight of the two large pails, both filled to the brim with fresh, warm milk. They wouldn’t stay filled unless she got help- quick. She had accidentally splashed out more than usual.

And the next day I was alone again. Still grateful. It was my last day of work. 6:30 a.m. Frying an egg in olive oil. Brewing black tea with almond milk. Packing quinoa, parsley, red onions. I was saying another goodbye -- this time to a ten-month old. When I arrived at work, I was glad to hold my baby, to feel his weight in the crook of my elbow. Heavy as a flour sack. A few hours later, I was standing in the middle of his room, dim, the sun gold-brown through the curtains. I rocked him back and forth, singing in Scottish Gaelic: "A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth. Mise ri d' thaobh . .

Color the sky
With the magic of love
None can stop us
As we rise above
Even if we go out
In a blaze of glory
Time will remember us

Never back down
Victory is ours
And none shall live
We are stronger, faster
Braver than the rest
The last of the light
We will fight to glory

Invincible
Though our nemesis is
Everlasting
United we stand
Protectors of the earth
And the army of justice
For he who brings the night

preface

This book is the story of a soul, and her journey through this pathway we call life. Hers may be rockier than many, but it is certainly not uncommon. As a peer counselor at a 1960 Houston pregnancy clinic, I have seen too many girls come through my doors, sit in a cozy seat across from me in the counseling room, and tell Allie’s story.

She couldn’t remember if she screamed.
“Quit pacin’, Your Highness, you’ll burn a hole in the ground with your heels,” Aloysius remarked, leaning against a gnarled tree, arms crossed over his chest.
Her stomach hadn’t settled. Her body was sent in another tempest; this time it was a tempest of confusion, not of sorrow.

I took a course in Evolutionary Biology over the summer and kept note of quotes I found amusing as I studied. While most of the course dealt with observable, scientific, change-within-a-created-kind evolution, we did of course cover the whole common-descent evolution thing as well.

"Hello."

"Oh. Hi. You look familiar...have we met before?"

"I don't think so. I've seen you around at this conference before. At least I'm pretty sure I have."

She tilted her head to one side.

"Ohhh that must be it. I've been here every year since they started this conference back in 2012."

"Cool! So have I. My name is Mark. Mark Barton."

He shook her hand.

"Melissa Grey. Nice to meet you!"

Smiles.

"Do you live near here? I live about three hours from here in a little community called Lake Victor."

“Chance? Chance, wake up!”
He was roused by Nóe’s panicked whisper. “Wh- Nóe, what’s up?” Chance launched himself off of his travel matt and scanned the clearing. No one was there, and the fire was doused in a hurry. Breixo must have taken Arlo away while Nóe waited up for Chance.
The night was dark and only the dim crimson embers gave off light. The canopy was just dense enough to choke out the stars and the moon.