It was the only lullaby she would ever sing, and it was sung in Hell.

This new thing that sprang up between them, it was... astral. It reshaped the air, and was in her, too - a warm and softening, a pull- and for that moment, her hands in his, Karou felt as powerless as starlight tugged toward the sun in the huge, strange warp of space.

And that's how you go on. You lay laughter over the dark parts. The more dark parts, the more you have to laugh. With defiance, with abandon, with hysteria, any way you can.

What's the point of being old if you can't beleaguer the young with your vast stores of wisdom?

And what's the point of being young if you can't ignore all advice?

And Esme remembered in a rush--the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made her heartbeat quicken.

His shadow splayed out huge before him, and his mind gleamed with ancient wars and winged beings, a mountain of melted demon bones and the city on the far side of it--a city that had vanished in the mists of time.