Children of Memory (Children of Time Book 3)

But with a spike of pleasant surprise, Miranda realized they were all like her in that moment. Products of different worlds and evolutionary paths—natural and accelerated—yet like her. The same drive to know burned in them, a convergence in the way their intellects worked, so that each species had reached the point where, faced with a mystery, they

She’s learning that getting a proper education doesn’t answer questions, it just teaches you to ask them.

At the end, then. Fitting. Means some waiting around, I suppose. But, at the same time, no time at all. Sometimes tomorrow’s just a today that got lost.

The night sky is a wall of cloud but there is a faint lambency limning one horizon. Off past the furthest farms to the sea, the sky shows that dawn is not far off. In its light she can observe the line of deeper dark where the trees start marching up into the hills. There are pale scars there, where rains have overcome the hold of roots and the lan

But there will come a time, even if it’s the heat death of the universe, when they will be gone. The living and the struggle is all. The moments of joy and sorrow, not just as stepping stones to the future, but taken on their own merits.

What they used to call non-neurotypical. Except, as we all went that way, it would eventually have to have been called typical. Because sometimes non-neurotypicality is what you need.

Because he believed in wishes and magic, elder gods and deus ex machina salvation.