The ragged knob before him was the hill that had held the castle of Lord Jerys. He raised his staff, but in this place its glow was feeble. By its dim...light he saw only bare ground and tumbled boulders. A few scattered stones might once have formed cottage walls, but all else was ruin.The wind was cold. Thin and dry, cutting through his robe. A few rotting twigs were caught in a cranny between the rocks. He gathered them into a tiny pile, spoke a fire spell. The twigs sputtered and smoked. He. And if the wife got a little strange once in awhile, he might not want to close his eyes. And she might not be so bitchy. That somehow reminded me of the time a newpaper headline labeled me the ‘Sex Messiah.’ True. I was soooooo proud, although I guess it was supposed to be insulting. It was in a local paper in Alabama and came out just before a conference was to be held in that town. What idiot decided to have a Human Sexuality convention in Tightass Town, Alabama, anyway? Of course, as I. More

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