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Nothing walks the earth more savage than a mare enraged.

Janet Morris

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Janet Morris
Age: 78
Born: 1946
Born: May 25
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Janet Ellen Morris
Janet E. Morris
Earth
Mare
Nothing
Mares
Enraged
Savage
Savages
Walks
Animal
War

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Arrows are cheap you're expensive.
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We've the new hard-steel, though why they're all so hot to pay twice the price when men're soft as clay and even wood will pierce the boldest belly, I can't say.
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Such hubris could only come from a man's mouth.
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Now the Fates are here on the beach, three shadows blacker than black, walking through the dunes and looking for their own. Just shadows, lamb-white hands beneath black robes spun of tears, glide among the celebrants on this night wherein the spirits of Thebes have found a home, if serendipitously.
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Sometimes a man does what he'd most like to avoid.
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What is needed is never to be had without price.
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Loyalty must be forged - to him, to his: stronger than iron, from experience, from risk - it can't be bought, or taught, or promised before the fact. Allegiance must be earned so it will hold, win or lose.
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What doesn't bend must break, when dooms are apportioned and destiny takes the lead. As it will now, and as it must, until this struggle ends.
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Everything that anyone respects is what men naturally excel at: fighting, accruing wealth, playing at power.
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Bandara was not an easy place to return to: it could hide from the common worlds whose periphery it inhabited. But Bandara never had, in all its years, completely disappeared.
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Sacred Bands and elite squadrons aren't what the mercenaries' guild is about. Field them at your peril.
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There are stranger things here than Thebans know about.
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Niko, you're halfway to where you need to go. It's the most dangerous time. And all the gods and forces have a stake in you, Hero. Or do you want to be just a memory, a cult somewhere, with people sacrificing horses to your name?
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Men may not believe you, my son. But you must always say the truth, when the truth holds no danger for you or your loved ones.
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You're not one to take lightly, to love of for an evening and leave of a dawn.
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It's all the same - no good without evil, no balance...no maat. If we lose one, we lose the other. It's just life, that's all.
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You count up your dead, every one. Always. Recall them, each and all - every face, every heart.
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So well do I love you, I go to my god singing your praises. When I meet my father, I will tell him I fought beside you.
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Painful things are quickly forgotten.
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Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.
Janet Morris