“That one," the merchant said, pointing to Käthe, whose head lolled against my shoulder, "burns like kindling. All flash, and no real heat. But you," he said. "You smolder, mistress. There is a fire burning within you, but it is a slow burn. It shimmers with heat, waiting only for a breath to fan it to life. Most curious." A slow grin spread over his mouth. "Most curious, indeed.”
Book:Wintersong