My father and I just started Harrowing the Dragon by
Patricia A. McKillip, the first of her three books of short stories.
Of course with McKillip "short" is a
relative term as each sentence feels like it carries the weight of centuries,
words spoken from myths echoing across the ocean of potential and Faerie into
the subconscious part of us where dragons sleep. A word-jeweler who crafts
worlds as natural as blooming flowers and more ancient than the first tree
whose roots dug deeper than any plant before it.
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