“Stung, I lifted my eyes to his and saw them as if for the first time. Eyes the color of rain, soft as dew and strong enough to etch a mountainside. Tears shimmered there — tears, ay Mother! Or maybe they were in my own eyes.”

“He stared at Esmelda with a face like glass, nothing hidden. What I saw there wasn’t steel or fire or stone. Feelings stirred in me and I had to look away. I knew what I saw because I’d felt them, too — understanding, sadness, compassion...forgiveness.”

“It was past dark when I reached the city and I’d mostly shoved my ghosts back into their graves. I let the gray mare pick her own pace and browse in the grain fields along the way.”

“Optimism / stung like grit in my swimsuit all the long ride home . . .”

“We're kissing in the rain.' Her voice was hard and soft at the same time. Like the velvet armchairs. Like the black rain inked on his hand.”

“You were the only one I saw when I closed my eyes," he said bringing his hand up to her chin and tilting her head up to look into his crystal clear blue eyes."Then why wasn't I enough when they were open?" she asked another tear welling in her eyes.”

“I’ll tell them that I saw the guy who shot her, then.”The man arched a brow. “The one who turned into a dragon before your very eyes? Don’t you think a story like that might affect your credibility as a witness?”