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Quote by K. Vale Nagle

“Staring at the soft fur of his stomach, listening to his heart beat, it required a different gryphon to have the strength of will to operate the saw. She was not that gryphon, and not a day went by when she didn't wish she'd pushed Mignet up at the cost of her own life. The way her pride ha treated her had made her cold and cruel like the ice that had taken her lover, but Satra was not that gryphon. She stood up and kicked the saw away from Jonas with a bloody paw.”

Quote by K. Vale Nagle

Book:Eyrie
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Eyrie

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K. Vale Nagle

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“Quess’s beak shook. Her whole body shook. There were silver tears coming out of her eyes as she looked at Urious. “Y-y-you killed my children,” she managed. Urious’s eyes were wide, in pain or shock, Tresh didn’t know. “You k-k-killed my mate.” Urious nodded. Blood pooled behind him, a mixture of his own and Vitra’s. Tresh gently gripped the spear in her paws and pulled it out of Vitra. The dead gryphon’s body fell atop Urious. Tresh tried to take the spear from Quess, but her brother’s mate pulled it away and placed it against Urious’s throat. The point of the spear was as unsteady as Quess. “I still hear the screams of gryphlets and chicks when I sleep,” Urious said. “I knew one of their parents would find me. It’s okay. Please, end this. I’m so sorry.” Despite everything Tresh had been thinking since the attack, she found herself putting a paw over Quess’s talons. “The dead cannot forgive,” she said. The dreams of her nieces and nephews played in her head. “We must forgive for them.” Quess quivered. “They are restless in the ocean of s-s-stars.” This time it was Bruen who put his talons on Quess’s shoulders. “This is how you quiet them. You do what they cannot.” Tresh’s heart beat in her chest, over and over, a hundred times before Quess’s grip slackened. Bruen carefully took the javelin from her and held her while she cried.”

GriefForgiveness
Book:Starling
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“She thought how curious it was that responses such as this--emotions, even--could run parallel with but quite separate from unhappiness. I am unhappy all the time, she thought, and that is a total occupation, but some other part of me still goes on working. I still see that things are beautiful, or significant, and that prompts a feeling. I can be angry, or pleased. But all this with detachment, as though it happened to someone else. It is as though half of me were some stranger, living independently.”

FeelingsGriefEmotionsMourningEmptinessUnhappinessBereavementDetachment
Book:Perfect Happiness
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