Prose
Select narration and dialogue lines from larger works.
Read prose passage 1 on its own pageThe question, having outlived their friendship, had outlived almost everything else as well.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 2 on its own pageHe lay on the ice, looking south, and tried to think of one good thing he had not ruined.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 3 on its own pageJust the Dene, because names always grew shorter over time even while their meaning expanded.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 4 on its own pageA childhood room was a cruel place to learn that time moved only in one direction.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 5 on its own pageBy the end of their revisions, the draft had earned a fine balance between Ferrin’s vanity and Fenlow’s practicality while at the same time gaining some third quality that made the design better altogether.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 6 on its own page“Death always seems like… a badly fitted joint. Everyone behaves as though it should just do its job and sit cleanly. But it never does.”
Lysanne, The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 7 on its own pageIt was a permanent blush, a burst from within—every timber abashed to have been allowed to take a dive in the beautiful river.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 8 on its own pageThe idea was backward and nonsense, and yet the two of them huddled behind nonsense as if it were the only shelter they had left.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 9 on its own page“It has many symptoms, but one of them is trying to solve a problem with complexity when it can be better solved with elegance.”
Master Fenlow, The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 10 on its own pageWarm, well-fed voices stretched out, lazy and long, muffled through the windows of cottages that glowed with lamplight.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 11 on its own pageAhead, nearly a full day’s walk away, the Order gates were waiting for him, likely lofty and looming, holding behind them the stone-cold patience of an institution that had never once needed to hurry.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 12 on its own pageThe earthy smell of leaf over leaf, decades deep in decay, filled his lungs.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 13 on its own pageThe mountain had always rationed the night sky into thin slits.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 14 on its own pageTheir faces were all ghosts to him now.
The Bleeding Stone
Read prose passage 15 on its own pageWhite whipping water was springing, squeezing and splashing against stones, rocks, and boulders of all sizes: a mottled brown that punched out above a thin foamy backdrop around its seams.
The Eternal Autumn
Read prose passage 16 on its own pageWhatever brave leaves still remained loyal to their branches now broke cleanly at their stems to the merriment of the night, spinning and swirling over treetops, clifftops, and rooftops, a twisting and twirling dance of red, orange, and yellow under three moons’ pale light.
The Eternal Autumn