“Derek favored his left side. His horse refused to bear him. I couldn't blame the horse. I wouldn't want his demonic, undead-blood-smeared, wolf-smelling ass riding me, either. But it made us slow.”

“I wouldn't want his demonic, undead-blood-smeared, wolf-smelling ass riding me either.”

“...the conflicts made him an indecisive mediator - a man, as someone had once observed, who couldn't keep his feet out of the shit on either side because he couldn't get the fencepost out of his ass.”

“No wonder he was so good with horses, I thought blearily, feeling his fingers rubbing gently behind my ears, listening to the soothing, incomprehensible speech. If I were a horse, I’d let him ride me anywhere.”

“The blood that pooled around the needle’s point reminded him of the smears he’d made on his beautiful angel’s face. He’d touched Livia with his craziness and left a mark.”

“All these things were shaken about within Peter Lake like pots and pans banging against the side of a peddler's swaybacked horse. It was hard to bear the weight of partial revelations which refused to venture past the tip of his tongue.”