We Didn't Make The World.

The Story Of Terisa And Geraden Began Very Much Like A Fable. She Was A Princess In A High Tower. He Was A Hero Come To Rescue Her. She Was The Only Daughter Of Wealth And Power. He Was The Seventh Son Of The Lord Of The Seventh Care. She Was Beautiful From The Auburn Hair That Crowned Her Head To The Tips Of Her White Toes. He Was Handsome And Courageous. She Was Held Prisoner By Enchantment. He Was A Fearless Breaker Of Enchantments. As In All The Fables, They Were Made For Each Other.

Part Of Him Wanted To Weep... But His Purpose Was Rigid Within Him. He Felt He Could Not Bend To Gentleness Without Breaking.

He Who Waits For The Sword To Fall Upon His Neck Will Surely Lose His Head.

When You've Tried All The Salves In The World And They Don't Work, You Start Thinking About Fire

Gradually, The Night Stumbled As If Stunned And Wandering Aimlessly Into An Overcast Day -- Limped Through The Wilderland Of Transition As Though There Were No Knowing Where The Waste Of Darkness Ended And The Ashes Of Light Began. The Low Clouds Seemed Full Of Grief -- Tense And Uneasy With Accumulated Woe -- And Yet Affectless, Unable To Rain, As If The Air Clenched Itself Too Hard For Tears. And Through The Dawn, Atiaran And Covenant Moved Heavily, Unevenly, Like Pieces Of A Broken Lament.