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The entire journey here to the fairies' hall seems suddenly useless. I can predict what will happen next: I’ll say something that is innocuous, you’ll overreact, and we will be screaming at each other before we know it. I fought these same fights with my own mother, and I have no desire to live through them again.
The she-wolf is not young; with each dawn, the scent of her own fate grows stronger on the breeze. She has no pups of her own, none living at least, and has only ever known the periphery of the pack. The scattered bones of her legacy will be grown over with moss after the first rain's fall; the marks that she will leave on this world are few and forlorn. Let this, she prays, be one of them.
A Dragon in the Abbey by James Morrow. Valis Seeker Fierefiz by Michael Echeverri Rivera.
27. Parsifal confessed to me that she has never dreamed of Valis. Not once. In her youth, she learned of the city in a book: a philosophical dialogue where a poet, a knight, a musician, and a madman argue about the nature of reality while awaiting the arrival of a fifth person. Near the end, the madman recounts the story of Valis, which the others think is nonsense. Parsifal disagreed, and the city quickly became an obsession (she herself used the word 'obsession'). She said all this while pacing back and forth, refusing to look me in the face until the end.
Whatever the mallepulpus’s moral stature, it would not allow its enemies an uneventful exit. Even as Jacob, dripping and shivering, urged the Abbess and the canonesses to back away from the shore, a portion of the swamp coalesced into a roaring and amorphous mass of silt and muck. With a noise like a thousand oxen breaking wind, the monstrous pudding detached itself from Paludis Cochlea, flopped onto the shore, and undulated forward, seeking to suffocate its parent bog’s tormentors.