Quotes About Strength

In this light, her hair was the colr of sandstone. She was sandstone: a spire of rock rising from an otherwise featureless desert. No toeholds.

Her back was very straight as she walked away, despite the fact that, on top of jet lag, she must have been up all night taking charge of my life.

Her back was straight, she moved with enormous, fragile dignity.

She felt taller than an oak, taller than an elm. They would sing songs of the king's seer, the queen of wyrd.

How would she be the light of the world feeling like this?

Without anyone to please, she no longer bent and swayed. No longer willow but oak.

The words hung there, a declaration, a taunt. You can't stop me!

She stood alone at the empty heart of a gone god, staff in the crook of her arm, one hand on her seax and the other on her cross. She would not wear and weather. She was Yffing. She would be totem and token for her people, the light of the world.

By the time they saw the outer walls of Caer Leon, her legs were steadier though inside she felt a shiver like an ash key twirling too fast in the wind.

I'm not pretty." "You don't need to be pretty. You're like lightning. Like a tide. Like a blizzard." "Something to run from." "Something to get caught up in. Somthing to remember for the rest of your life.

Send me strength, she called-to whom?-and kicked Bony to a gallop, and hurled her javelin hard and true.

Hild bent over and vomited stinging bile, then through her weeping, killed the man at her feet.

I was the one who helped, the competent one, armored and invulnerable. Aud rhymes with proud.

Peretur laughed. Risk. Her whole life was risk. And now, today, with Nimuë at her side-and keeping food down-Peretur feelt she could slay a dragon.

The burning was something to hold on to as her headache threatened to engulf the world.

She reeked of power: richly dressed, strong-boned, uncanny. She laid her hand on her seax and gave herself a long look. Begu was right. No one would be fool enough to get in the way of this woman. She looked like a pale and unearthly queen.

I looked at my hands, turned them over in the tarnished shine of streetlights seeping through a crack in the curtains. They were long; strong and competent with nicely shaped nails; hard enough for a palm strike, soft enough to trace gentle arabesques on a taut trembling stomach or along a soft inner thigh. The stains did not show.

You are a seer overwhelmed by vision, not a silly maid who can't hold her drink. You will not hide. You will not hang your head. You will smile. You will eat. You will make a show of drinking your wine. One more sip of this. Good. Now gather your wits.

Hild looked down at the water, at herself, a woman. A woman who knows. Standing like a queen. Light of the world. Queen of the world.

There was no world in which she would be queen to another's king. Eanflæd would be peaceweaver. She was the light of the world.

If she used weapons the way she used words, no one would stand against her; they'd have no idea where the stroke would fall next.

Stay in the world, Aud. Stay alive inside. Promise me. Stay alive.

After some months on the road she was taller still, her muscles hard but her smile more ready.

The sword called to her, and somehow Arturus felt it.