Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“The bone dog rested his muzzle on her forearm. He had neither ears nor eyebrows, and yet she could practically feel the look he was giving her, tragic and hopeful as dogs often were.”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone

“The bone dog came alive at dusk. It was not quite completed, but it was close. She was bent over the left front paw when the skull's jaw yawned open and it stretched as if waking from a long slumber.

'Hush,' she told it. 'I'm nearly done-'

It sat up. Its mouth opened and the ghost of a wet tongue touched her face like fog.

She scratched the skull where the base of the ears would be. Her nails made a soft scraping sound on the pale surface.

The dog wagged its tail, its pelvis, and most of its spine with delight.

'Sit still,' she told it, picking up the front paw. 'Sit, and let me finish.'

It sat politely. The hollow eye sockets gazed up at her. Her heart contracted painfully.

The love of a bone dog, she thought, bending her head down over the paw again. All that I am worth these days.

Then again, few humans were truly worth the love of a living dog. Some gifts you could never deserve.”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone

“Bone dog, stone dog... black dog, white dog... live dog, dead dog... yellow dog, run!”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone

“It galloped out of the fog, an articulated ghost, bouncing on its forelegs. Briefly it rose up and swiped at her face with its nonexistent tongue, then dropped back down again.”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone

“She grabbed the dog by the backbone, trying to find a convenient way to hold him. You couldn't very well scruff an animal with no scruff.”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone

“She scowled. He was a good dog. He had excellent bones and even if she had used too much wire and gotten it a bit muddled around the toes and one of the bones of the tail, she'd think that a decent person would stop and admire the craftsmanship before they screamed and ran away.”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone