It's not being a woman I mind so much," she said slowly. "'Tis the way men seem to always order my life." She leaned earnestly toward him. "Your hand, Papa, has wielded a sword and cradled a child and held power over hundreds of men." She held up her...
Maybe not. But maybe that's how the world changes, Isaiah. One father, one child, at a time.
Seems to me people are mean or evil because they're scared, mostly, or in pain, or afraid they're going to lose something.
How could you carry the inside of a person with you and not call them a friend, no matter what the rules said?
