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Guy Winter Biography

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“And what is it that you believe in, Tam?” said the Cutty Sark, smiling. “In life? In love? In happiness? You don’t even know what they really are, none of you do! You’ve been deceived, by the greatest trick of them all! Here you live, like fabricated ships in a bottle. You can see the elements around you, but you can’t feel them- can’t even touch them…” She put her hand on his cheek again, and this time he didn’t move it away. “There’s a king, and a law, and a church, and they tell you exactly who you are, what you want- what you can have, and what you can dream of! But they’re just part of the deception, can’t you see? They’re just an illusion, a child’s play-thing, ready to be washed away like sand-castles on the beach when the tide comes in. Man-made institutions can never hold out against the real world forever. Against our world. Love it, hate it, desire it, fear it- but you can’t escape it!”

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Book:Tam: The Three Changelings
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“Callum pulled a sgian dubh from out of his stocking and slammed it into the door-frame, where it lodged deep into the wood. “They call it the black knife,” he said. “But it is true steel. That’ll keep the witches frae’ your door at least, Mistress Nansie! Dia leat!” Nansie squeezed his hand. “Dia leat! God with you too, my son!” Callum crossed himself, touched the blade of the sgian dubh for luck and then padded softly down the stairs after the others. “Tapadh leat mo mhàthair!” he called back quietly. “But somethin’ tells me there’s no God where we’re headed…” He stepped out onto the moor, and plunged on into the darkness, until it swallowed him too.”

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Author:Guy Winter
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“The pipe-music filled the room with sound, until it seemed that the throbbing walls must burst asunder- or the very roof of the inn fly off, to release the pressure. The candle-light pranced around the room in a crazy reel of will-o’-the-wisps, distorted by the clouds of dust melting down from the ceiling like Hebridean mist. The Highlanders looked at each other in wild surmise, then started smashing tankards against the walls in time with the swirling strains of music, sending ale cascading up into the air, spattering the ceiling and soaking the revellers’ hair and plaids.”

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Book:Tam: The Three Changelings
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