“ By late afternoon, the sky starts to cloud over. The sun shines behind the fluffy clouds, gilding the edges and showing a Jacob's-ladder of rays streaming through the gaps...very pretty. Gradually the clouds shift into a new configuration: you realize with awe-struck, preternatural clarity that the clouds form a map of a coast-line that you know against the blue sky as ocean: surely it's a Sign! Suddenly, the golden beams coalesce into one long ray that strikes across the blue. A star-like gleam flashes under the ray: perhaps it is an island? But the charts show no island there...who would want to hide an island? Who could do it?”
“ War of the Roses as a campaign plot. Two noble lines converge somehow, each line thinks it has the rightful claim to the throne. Deciding this long ago was handled by some divine intervention, requiring both houses to come together at some point. They aren't so willing to get together this time. Civil war, or a new king?”
“ The frozen wastes stretch for miles around. Something waddles through the snow. It's a penguin: An emperor penguin. It waddles slowly, meandering toward the sea. The ranger freezes. 'Stay very still,' he warns. 'Don't move at all.' 'What is it?' I ask, breathlessly. 'It's the most dangerous creature in the whole Yahoo Tundra, and that penguin's about to kick its butt...' (Sorry, Epi! I couldn't resist!)”