âAnd this, she saw, her dream had done. She had built against that fear a vision of power not wholly selfishâpower to protect not only herself, but others. And that visionâhowever partial it had been in those daysâwas worth following. For it led not away from the fear, as a dream of rule might do, but back into it. The pattern of her lifeâas she saw it then, clear and far away and painted in bright colorsâthe pattern of her life was like an intricate song, or the way the Kuakgan talked of the grove's interlacing trees. There below were the dream's roots, tangled in fear and despair, nourished in the death of friends, the bones of the strong, the blood of the living, and there high above were the dream's images, bright in the sun like banners or the flowering trees of spring. And to be that banner, or that flowering branch, meant being nourished by the same fears: meant encompassing them, not rejecting them.â
    â  Elizabeth Moon Â