“The rats we met the size of small dogs and they watched us go by like they'd figured out that what People were for was feeding rats.”

“He's not my lover," Isolfr said.She raised an eyebrow, a long feathery, shaggy sweep. "You're his beloved. Both of them. I saw enough on the war-trail to know." Then she laughed, and took her hand off his and pushed his chest like a wolf-cub nudging playfully. "We don't get to pick who loves us, you know. And better to get him to write the song than be remembered forever as 'fair Isolfr, the cold.'"He scrubbed a hand across his face, roughness of beard and scars and the smooth skin of the unmarked cheek. "Is that really what they call me?"She smiled. "You frighten them, Viradechtisbrother. You went down under the mountain and came out again, twice, and the alfar call you friend. They'll have you among the heroes before you know it. And you can seem quite untouchable—'ice-eyes, and ice-heart, and ice-hard, his will.'""Othinn help me. It is a song already.”

“You know how sometimes you can be going along and do something or say something, and suddenly you *know* yourself? I mean, it's like you're looking at somebody else, and it's just so fucking clear you want to hit something.”

“He fell away into the column before Isolfr could blink the thought of thanking him into his bleary mind, and Isolfr looked up at Frithulf in supplication. “What was that about?” “Stay pretty,” Frithulf advised, through a mouthful of meat. Isolfr would have kicked him if he hadn’t been out of reach on the horse.”

“Felix just sat there, not smirking exactly - or not so as you could call him on it - but clearly happy with how unhappy he'd managed to make all of us.”

“I gave up on cussing - I'd run out of words filthy enough - and just started praying.”

“If I was really, really lucky, Felix might throw a fireball at me, and I'd get out of the rest of this freakshow.”