The news spread quietly, like a plague. Instead of a cough, it was a whisper. Instead of a sniffle it was a suggestion: “come to the longhouse tonight to hear the necromancer speak.” In the evening, the longhouse was full.
Love this passage so much.
Either this or
We had been staring up at the sky admiring the work of Ghalstorin when the ribbons of light only visible on these peaks made themselves known to man and the animals who could still remember what beauty was. They curled in their imaginary wind and threw the colors of flowers and oceans and sunlight upon the eternal snow and for the moment I forgot that I had left my village because I had touched yew, nightshade, and water hemlock and prayed to the thirteenth saint who brings only bitterness and Decay.