He wishes he wasn’t like this, wishes he could stand even parallel to normal and be someone who fits next to those his age, who goes to school and kisses an appropriate amount of pretty people and isn’t bothered by things like an odd seam in his clothes or the very existence of socks. He wishes his brain moved in one direction, not a dozen all at the same time, and that he didn’t pull apart in a panic if even one thing goes wrong. ― C.G. Drews, Hazelthorn

But then, on the fourth night after the Blood Clot Hills, I walked into a field of skinned blackhorns almost too big to get across in a night. I fell to my knees in the middle of them and while the Lost Children moved across the sky I just stayed still, not able to do anything. ― Stephen Graham Jones, The Buffalo Hunter Hunter