When the person with a chokehold on your soul says, “Jump,” you pack your parachute and hope for a soft landing.

Jamie Wyman

Mots clés c cat-sharp eris trickster-gods

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His skin like grey bark, his eyes pale as a winter pool, time and age had worn my father to the bone. In our youth, he’d been a strict master lording over my lessons while tender with the flower of his heart, my sister Anabine. Ana, the lovely, blooming jewel. Zyndel, she of clever wit.

Jamie Wyman

Mots clés fantasy the-clever-one zyndel

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Magic pants?”
“Without them I’m starkers,” he mused. “Shall I show you?”
“No, I think I prefer the pants.

Jamie Wyman

Mots clés marius cat-sharp

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