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176 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 30, 2019
“Oliver was a very minor mage. His familiar reminded him of this several times a day. […]
He was a very minor mage.
Unfortunately, he was all they had.”
“He’d been so sure, back in the village, that he could do this. He’d been worried about bringing extra socks, as if that mattered at all in a world with man-eating monsters in it.”
“A real wizard wouldn’t be huddled in a ditch wishing for his mother.
(In this, at least, Oliver was dead wrong—many wizards over the ages, some of them very major mages indeed, have found themselves curled in ditches and wishing desperately for their mothers. But they tend not to mention these things in their memoirs.)”
(I’m not the only one who immediately remembered this, right?)
“Do they have names?” Oliver asked, rather interested. Communication with another species, even a pig, was something none of his books covered, and the armadillo didn’t quite count.
“Do they have—yes, they’re called Bacon and Pork Chop.” The armadillo hopped in frustration. “Of course they don’t have names! They’re pigs!”
“It didn’t matter that I was young, my village sent me anyway.” And he still resented that, but love and pity and resentment were all mixed together and he didn’t have any way to untangle them.
“Yes,” agreed the Rain Wife. “That is the price your village paid. You will never love them with your whole heart again. The shadow of what they did in their fear will lie between you forever. But they will be alive, nonetheless, and learning to bridge that shadow—or decide not to—is the work of adulthood.”
“It didn’t matter that I was young, my village sent me anyway.” And he still resented that, but love and pity and resentment were all mixed together and he didn’t have any way to untangle them.Oliver is a well-rounded, believable main character. He’s more noteworthy for his determination and honor than for his magical talent. He’s resolved to do what is right, even when it’s difficult and dangerous for him. It’s heroism in a small, resolute package.
“Yes, … That is the price your village paid. You will never love them with your whole heart again. The shadow of what they did in their fear will lie between you forever. But they will be alive, nonetheless, and learning to bridge that shadow — or decide not to — is the work of adulthood.”
"Oh, herbs," said the bandit, in the dismissive tone used by people who don't know anything about herbs.
(This is generally not a very wise thing to say, because people who do know about herbs may take offense, and you will then find your socks stuffed full of stinging nettles and your tea full of cascara, which is no less potent a laxative for being tree bark.)