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400 pages, Hardcover
First published January 10, 2023
鈥淓ven small actions have consequences. And while we can often choose our actions, we rarely get to choose our consequences.鈥�
鈥淟eaving didn鈥檛 feel exciting. It felt heavy. Every child looked forward to the day when they could choose a different path from the one their parents were on. Tress sincerely hoped she hadn鈥檛 decided on one that led straight off a cliff.鈥�
鈥淚t might seem that the person who can feel for others is doomed in life. Isn鈥檛 one person鈥檚 pain enough? Why must a person like Tress feel for two, or more? Yet I鈥檝e found that the people who are the happiest are the ones who learn best how to feel. It takes practice, you know. Effort. And those who (late in life) have been feeling for two, three, or a thousand different people鈥� well, turns out they鈥檝e had a leg up on everyone else all along. Empathy is an emotional loss leader. It pays for itself eventually.鈥�
鈥淲hile a healthy measure of foolhardiness drove our ancestors toward discovery, fear kept them alive. If bravery is the wind that makes us soar like kites, fear is the string that keeps us from going too far. We need it, but the thing is, our heritage taught us to fear some of the wrong things.鈥�
鈥淏eyond that, memories have a way of changing on us. Souring or sweetening over time鈥� like a brew we drink, then recreate later by taste, only getting the ingredients mostly right. You can鈥檛 taste a memory without tainting it with who you have become. That inspires me. We each make our own lore, our own legends, every day. Our memories are our ballads, and if we tweak them a little with every performance鈥� well, that鈥檚 all in the name of good drama.鈥�
鈥淢emory is often our only connection to who we used to be. Memories are fossils, the bones left by dead versions of ourselves. More potently, our minds are a hungry audience, craving only the peaks and valleys of experience. The bland erodes, leaving behind the distinctive bits to be remembered again and again. Painful or passionate, surreal or sublime, we cherish those little rocks of peak experience, polishing them with the ever-smoothing touch of recycled proxy living. In so doing鈥� like pagans praying to a sculpted mud figure鈥� we make of our memories the gods which judge our current lives. I love this. Memory may not be the heart of what makes us human, but it鈥檚 at least a vital organ. Nevertheless, we must take care not to let the bliss of the present fade when compared to supposedly better days. We鈥檙e happy, sure, but were we more happy then? If we let it, memory can make shadows of the now, as nothing can match the buttressed legends of our past鈥� Do not let memory chase you. Take the advice of one who has dissected the beast, then rebuilt it with a more fearsome face鈥� which I then used to charm a few extra coins out of an inebriated audience. Enjoy memories, yes, but don鈥檛 be a slave to who you wish you once had been. Those memories aren鈥檛 alive. You are.鈥�
鈥淲orldbringers like myself spend decades combing through folk tales, legends, myths, histories, and drunken bar songs looking for the most unique stories. We hunt for bravery, cleverness, heroism. And we find no shortage of such virtues. Legends are silly with them. But the person who is willing to reconsider their assumptions? The hero who can sit down and reevaluate their life? Well, now that is a gemstone that truly glitters, friend.鈥�
鈥淪he鈥� didn鈥檛 need to do this all on her own. That shouldn鈥檛 have been such a revelation for her. But after spending ages walking around with everyone piling bricks in your arms, it can throw you off balance when someone removes a brick to carry for you.鈥�
鈥淣ow, most people would agree that humans are not telepathic. We can鈥檛 directly send our thoughts or emotions into the minds of others. Nevertheless, you can hear my story and imagine the things I describe鈥攖he same as I picture them in my own mind. What is that, if not a form of telepathy?鈥�
鈥淥ne of the great tragedies of life is knowing how many people in the world are made to soar, paint, sing, or steer鈥� except they never get the chance to find out.鈥�
鈥淭he first is that heroes can be trained. Not by a government or a military, but by the people themselves. Heroes are the ones who have thought about what they鈥檙e going to do, and who have trained to do it. Heroism is often the seemingly spontaneous result of a lifetime of preparation鈥� In the frenzied anarchy of destruction, loyalty to causes and kingdoms alike tends to fall to the chaos. But the bond between people, well, that鈥檚 stronger than steel. If you want to create heroes, don鈥檛 give them something to fight for. Give them someone to fight for.鈥�
鈥淥ur words, like our hearts, are weapons still hot from the forging, beating themselves into new shapes each time we swing them.鈥�
鈥漈he girl had been given the unfortunate name of Glorf upon her birth (don鈥檛 judge; it was a family name), but her wild hair earned her the name everyone knew her by: Tress.鈥�
鈥漑The Iriali] supposedly had golden hair. Like yours, the color of sunlight.鈥�
鈥淢y hair is not the color of sunlight, Charlie.鈥�
鈥淵our hair is the color of sunlight, if sunlight were brown,鈥� Charlie said. It might be said he had a way with words. In that his words often got away.
鈥淚t鈥檚 really not a problem that someone needs to be saved. Everyone needs help. It鈥檚 hard to be the person who makes trouble, but the thing is, everyone makes trouble. How would we help anyone if nobody ever needed help?鈥�