Tag Archives: Book 1: Meadowsweet

Sitting on the spot, the boy tried to think of the sorts of things only he knew. Holding up one finger at a time, he silently made his list—where he liked to hide when the house was too noisy, the best place to catch fish, which tree the honeybees had chosen, his fondest wish, the promises he’d made, the things he dreamed about at night, what made him want to cry. Seven fingers already!

—MEADOWSWEET by C. J. Milbrandt

Aurelius stole onto a rocky outcropping above the buck, blades drawn, muscles taut, poised to leap. It was impossible not to acknowledge the hunter’s own unique nobility. Although Freydolf would never cater to the other man’s ego by telling him so, he’d often thought that this Aurelius—the one stripped of all his ruffles and refinement—was worth sculpting.

—MEADOWSWEET by C.J. Milbrandt