Ferrell had seen the Rain God of the good city of Reardon only a few times in his long life.
The plants were still producing, though they seemed to struggle; the broad zucchini leaves sagged like broken umbrellas, and the leaves of the basil and parsley curled inward as if they had tasted something sour.
The Rain God of Reardon had been missing from the city of almost a month and a half, and its absence was hurting everything. Including Ferrell’s business.
The empty rooms inside Mrs. Morton’s house felt large and cold. The empty space inside her chest felt larger and colder, and filled with a terrible draft.
“You know what it’s like,” he finally said, “to have a fox show up out of nowhere and start talking to you?”
“I didn’t rescue you so you could go without marshmallows, Morry.”
Early on in his training, he spent his nights with other novices, scraping away at the low-life creatures that clung like barnacles to the edges of darkness. He then spent his days doing data entry.
As old as they were, gryphons sometimes had difficulty navigating the subtle undercurrents that moved the river of human social convention.
There are certain kinds of magic that Amanda already knows how to use. Mirror magic is the best.
The silver maple wasn’t used to arguing. Gossiping, sure.