“Love is—” She shifted in her saddle, fighting to sit taller, to convey a larger sense of self. “It isn’t something that can be understood or explained. It’s intangible. Like magic. Those who do not possess its power can never fully grasp it.” Ranmaru inclined his head. “That sounds rather sad.” “And smells like horseshit,” Ōkami said over his shoulder.”
Book:Flame in the Mist