Does the worm on the hook expect to be rescued simply because the fish have eaten all the other worms? — Sheri S. Tepper

Sex was pleasurable, sure, but survival was sweeter still.

“That’s different. That’s paradise. Like it was on Breadh.”

“Were there many people on Breadh?”

Snark laughed, abruptly joyous. “Hardly any! That’s what made it paradise!”

“Will you go home again?”

Would I go home again? To the lies the songfathers told? To the pain of the House Without a Name? To that terrible destiny for my daughters? To connivance at that evil by my sons? To sell truth and wisdom short in order to buy the false hope of immortality?

Somehow I got to my feet.

“No,” I cried. My voice was the cry of a small bird against that mighty thunder. Still I cried, “No. I will not!”