Truly, Sister, You Were Born To Be

The Women Are The Strong Ones, Truly.

From Where I Sit, Battles Are Hard. I’ve Written My Share. Sometimes I Employ The Private’s Viewpoint, Very Up Close And Personal, Dropping The Reader Right Into The Middle Of The Carnage. That’s Vivid And Visceral, But Of Necessity Chaotic, And It Is Easy To Lose All Sense Of The Battle As A Whole. Sometimes I Go With The General’s Point Of View Instead, Looking Down From On High, Seeing Lines And Flanks And Reserves. That Gives A Great Sense Of The Tactics, Of How The Battle Is Won Or Lost, But Can Easily Slide Into Abstraction.

They Are Children, Sansa Thought. They Are Silly Little Girls, Even Elinor. They’ve Never Seen A Battle, They’ve Never Seen A Man Die, They Know Nothing. Their Dreams Were Full Of Songs And Stories, The Way Hers Had Been Before Joffrey Cut Her Fathers Head Off. Sansa Pitied Them. Sansa Envied Them.

I Knew A Man Once Who Told Me That I Smiled At The Wrong Things." "do You? "only By The Light Of Those Who Smile At Nothing.

A Bruise Is A Lesson... And Each Lesson Makes Us Better.