By Jo Clayton

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Extra resources for A Gathering of Stones (Drinker of Souls Book 3)

Sample text

Get it back. Concentrate, separate, appreciate, she chanted. Symmetry, limitry, backbone, mar row, she chanted, the phrasemaker in her head plundering her wordstore. Separation, isolation, disseverance, disrup tion, rent, split and rift, cleavage and abruption, she chanted, the words drowning the water wounds. The Wounded Moon slipped down his western arc, cross ing the spray of stars with a ponderous dignity that dragged at Korimenei’s nerves, setting her to wonder if this intermi nable night would ever end, if she could possibly get through two more nights like it.

There was a small halfinoon of sandy beach on the north side, the side he came on first; he circled the islet and came back to the beach, drove the nose of the boat up onto the sand and tossed the anchor overside. He slipped his arms through the straps of his rucksack and got cautiously to his feet. ” The kwitur dragged himself up, moving with painful slow ness. Maksim watched, frowning, angry at first, then amused. ” He laughed for the first time in days, the sound booming back at him from the hollows of the cliff.

She spread her hands flat on the desk, frowned at them.. “Which is a digression . . I’m explaining too much. It’s not needed. More than that, it’s probably counterproductive. You are to go to the Old Man’s Mountain across the bay. You are to find a sufficiently quiet and secluded place. You are to fast and meditate for three days. Do nothing. Accept what comes to you. Forget nothing. You won’t understand most of it now, you don’t know enough about the world or yourself. ” She straightened her back, looking past Korimenei.

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