Condal does as she had done

Condal opened the door immediately after knocking, blushing at her own foolishness.

Condal opened the door immediately after knocking, blushing crimson at her own foolishness. One of the occupants of the room could not speak to bid her enter, and the other would never make another sound.

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Murchad fears the curse of cats

'Who could that be?'

“Who could that be?” Synne asked upon hearing a commotion in the front hall.

“Or what manner of beast?” Cearball added.

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Eirik asks anything

'I thought you just ate?'

“I thought you just ate?” Cearball smirked.

Eirik did not put down his spoon, but he held it immobile halfway between his mouth and the bowl, which gesture seemed more menacing still.

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Truth will still be told

'I hope you did not promise them a miracle.'

“I hope you did not promise them a miracle,” Aelfden said.

“Most certainly not!” Father Matthew gasped in open-mouthed indignation. “On the contrary, I told them that expecting a miracle was perhaps the surest way to avoid one – but it is always so!”

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Cynewulf learns how it feels

No one had been speaking when the Abbot came in.

No one had been speaking when the Abbot came in, but it seemed to Cynewulf that somehow the room had gone more silent still.

“Good morning,” the Abbot said quite softly. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

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Cedric joins a lesson

Cedric knew his friends were up to trouble as soon as he opened the door.

Cedric knew his friends were up to trouble as soon as he opened the door. Olaf squealed, Conrad hunched his shoulders over something he held in his lap, and Finn turned his head and grinned as wickedly as Finn could grin.

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Cian loses count

He thought one hundred strokes far too few.

Dantalion had given his word, but he thought one hundred strokes far too few. It was the first time Eithne had permitted him to brush her hair – and it was she who had offered, she who had asked. Fortunately her hair was long, and he could make his one hundred strokes last.

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Araphel asks for help

'You!'

Dantalion snarled, “You!”

“Please…”

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Cian cries up from the depths

Dantalion bent his head and scuffed his feet through the weeds.

Dantalion bent his head and scuffed his feet through the weeds. With the toes of his boots he snapped through stems and ripped up roots, and he kicked up entire mats of dead leaves that were heavy and wet underneath like scabs. What he sought was below all that rot, below the spores of mold, below the creeping tendrils of fungus. He was scraping down to the cold clay, such as men were made of.