Jaded Haven, true to the mind of its mistress, Daphne, alternately alights on a theme like a dragonfly on the water, or rends it stem to stern with a ferocity to dismay the stoutest troll.
I’ve been watching my boy, this second son of mine, venture into a place where soft hearts get crushed on the inevitable steps to manhood. I remember a raw-boned girl, Appalachia singing off her young skin with a sharp tang, a splash of freckles crossing her tawny cheeks, take my firstborn by the throat and slay him with her sweet love. A girl twelve years old, more capable and swift out of sheer, natural-born instinct, commanded his heart with fluid ease and treated it gently. She hadn’t yet learned to do otherwise.