In The Darkest Hours We Must Believe

Cut The Attacker Down, To Cut Them Down To Their Very Soul

His Face Set In Grim Determination, Richard Slogged Ahead, His Fingers Reaching Up To Touch The Tooth Under His Shirt. Loneliness, Deeper Than He Had Never Known, Sagged His Shoulders. All His Friends Were Lost To Him. He Knew Now That His Life Was Not His Own. It Belonged To His Duty, To His Task. He Was The Seeker. Nothing More. Nothing Less. Not His Own Man, But A Pawn To Be Used By Others. A Tool, Same As His Sword, To Help Others, That They Might Have The Life He Had Only Glimpsed For A Twinkling. He Was No Different From The Dark Things In The Boundary. A Bringer Of Death.

But If Used For Retribution, Magic Is Vengeance Incarnate.

I'm Surprised You Don't Know More About Magic, Sister Verna. There Is A Word That Is Magic. It Can Accomplish More Than You Might Think. Maybe You Have Heard It Before. It Is The Word 'please.

I Never Could Understand Why Some Writers Treat Women As Helpless. Every Woman I Know Is Strong In Her Own Unique Way.