My Children Were All Made From Paper

Who Are You?' Mo Looked At The White Women. Then He Looked At Dustfinger's Still Face. Guess.' The Bird Ruffled Up Its Golden Feathers, And Mo Saw That The Mark On Its Breast Was Blood. You Are Death.' Mo Felt The Word Heavy On His Tongue. Could Any Word Be Heavier?

The Night Belongs To Beasts Of Prey, And Always Has. It's Easy To Forget That When You're Indoors, Protected By Light And Solid Walls.

Are You Really Going To Catch Us And Take Us Back To Esther? We Don’t Belong To Her, You Know.” Embarrassed, Victor Stared At His Shoes. “well, Children All Have To Belong To Somebody,” He Muttered. “do You Belong To Someone?” “that’s Different.” “because You’re A Grown-up?

Don't Let It Worry You, Not Being Able To Speak,'dustfinger Had Often Told Her. 'people Tend Not To Listen Anyway, Right?

The Night Breathed Through The Apartment Like A Dark Animal. The Ticking Of A Clock. The Groan Of A Floorboard As He Slipped Out Of His Room. All Was Drowned By Its Silence. But Jacob Loved The Night. He Felt It On His Skin Like A Promise. Like A Cloak Woven From Freedom And Danger.