Ore, the writer's daughter, stands at his graveside. In her hands his last book, the one she wasn't supposed to find. She is 14 and determined, and she finished it a month ago. It's about a young girl ...  [+]

I walk by this Weaver often, quickening my pace, hands tight in my pockets, for all Weavers are thieving bastards and will steal your memories when you aren't looking. Sometimes, even when you are ...  [+]