“And," Amber said, practically drooling as she ogled him, "it's tradition for new arrivals to help with the pep rally."Brooklyn quirked her lips in doubt. "Tradition?""It's a new tradition," Amber shot back."Clearly the deeper meaning of the word has escaped you.”

“Taggle looked up at her, his amber eyes as deep as the loneliness Kate had felt before he became her friend."The traditional thing," he said slowly, "involves the river and a sack.”

“One cannot launch a new history — the idea is altogether unthinkable; there would not be the continuity and tradition. Tradition cannot be contrived or learned. In its absence one has, at the best, not history but ‘progress’ — the mechanical movement of a clock hand, not the sacred succession of interlinked events.”

“We’re far from traditional, Beautiful,” I practically growl against her lips. “There’s no reason to start now.”

“Get off," she said. "Get off now."Before its too late, and I decide to celebrate a narrow escape from death in the traditional manner of our species.”

“David put his pint glass down like it was poison. The clear amber beauty stared back at him with Again on its mind. She was already in his blood, swimming in his veins.”