“Wolves ate even mighty hunters, for there was no honor or code among predators, and everyone's guts steam the same way when torn open on a cold night.”

“I turned to Ren, dropping my head low to honor the fallen alpha. The circled wolves did the same. I lifted my muzzle first, my howl singing out the pain of Ren's death, mourning him. One by one my packmates joined the song. Our howls filled the library, spilling into the winter night. The death song grew as the wolves still outside raised their voices to honor the lost young warrior. The chorus of wolf cries, full of heartache, swelled in the night, carrying Ren's memory to the very stars.”

“If I lived by some code, my actions would become predictable. The enemy would take advantage of this and I’d be killed. An honorable death doesn’t exist. Death is death. But it’s funny that survival and revenge require the same thing: no honor codes, no supposed higher principles to aspire to, no mercy”

“Reading is a mighty engine, beside which steam and electricity sink into insignificance.”

“The cold is getting quite severe already; all the quail have gone, and last night there was a full orchestra of wolves outside the post-station.”

“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.”