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by Sylvia Kelso

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The Stunning Sequel to the Highly Acclaimed Amberlight

Fighting doubt and convention, beset with great challenge and facing profound change, Tellurith leads her displaced House to a new beginning and a different life in Iskarda—a life that includes men and women as equals. But the traditionalist Iskardans are outraged by
Tellurith’s policies and

The Stunning Sequel to the Highly Acclaimed Amberlight

Fighting doubt and convention, beset with great challenge and facing profound change, Tellurith leads her displaced House to a new beginning and a different life in Iskarda—a life that includes men and women as equals. But the traditionalist Iskardans are outraged by
Tellurith’s policies and appalled by her love for two husbands: Alkhes—
the rough, dark Outlander who brought Amberlight its doom—and golden
Sarth, epitome of the urbane men of the Amberlight Towers. To achieve
Tellurith’s dream, both must re-shape their lives. To preserve the dream, all three must journey to Dhasdein’s imperial capital of
Riversend and face deadly menace and perilous machination.

Editorial Reviews

Library Journal

Leading her displaced House from their traditional home in Amberlight, Tellurith follows the great river south to a new life in which she tries to bring about an equal relationship between men and women and forge a lasting peace between her two husbands and herself. This sequel to Amberlight, set against a landscape that draws from the stark beauty of Australia, features strong characters and a distinctive storytelling style. A good choice for most libraries.

—Jackie Cassada

Product Details

Juno Books
Publication date:
Product dimensions:
0.82(w) x 5.50(h) x 8.50(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Diaspora. Week 1.
Tellurith's Diary

However it feels, this is not a dream. I will not wake to my life's remembered walls; to that Uphill view through wide glass widows, the House around me. The City beyond. I am already wide awake. Perched by a makeshift fire amid miles of dry rice paddies, in the heart of the Sahandan, with half a pilfered archive scroll and somebody's old silverpoint; planning to make a record. Of where we are going. What we have begun.

But it is hard to begin this journal without turning it into a requiem. For how shall I go on without remembering all those who are gone? All my peers, my fellow House-heads: Damas and Eutharie and Ciruil, my rivals; Maeran and Denara and Sevitha, my enemies; Zhee and Ti'e and Averion, my allies; my friends. Averion above all, my lovely general.

And the women who followed them, the House and Craft-folk, the cutters and shapers and troublecrew; so many bringing their men as well. The Downhill clans, the workers and guilds and merchant folk. Even the guerilla raff who came for us or against us out of River Quarter. All the folk of Amberlight. All left, lost, gone.

But how shall I mourn the greatest loss of all? My dear, my darling, the surety under my heart, the life rising to my fingertips, the light in wall and statuette and mother-face, the voice to my silence, the measure to my song? The heart's blood, the treasure, the bane of Amberlight. The city-killer, the king-maker. Pearl-rock. The qherrique.

Blown out of existence, with the armies that besieged us. Never to know, to feel, to share that unhuman answer's mystery, ever again.

Yet who am I to complain?When I surrendered, at that mystery's behest? When my--our--House survived, and relatively intact, after other Heads died with theirs? When most of my folk are here, to shape that House back round me? Safe out of Amberlight, bound for the Iskan marble quarry. Telluir House's traditional holding; a fresh life, a new world. Above all, when I, unlike so many on either side, have brought both my men live out of the wreck?

Both of them. Ah. There begins the difference. We--I was used to sharing, yes, in old Amberlight. By House custom, four, five women take--took--a single husband, who dwelt modestly in the men's tower, while we managed House and Crafts. Sharing a man, I am used to.

But not to two men sharing me.

If they will share. I am House-head still. I can command it. Will that make it happen? Two men together, not in the tower now, no rules laid down for them. Two such men as these?

Sarth, so much the pattern of Uphill Amberlight. I see him still, in those bronze silk trousers, gold-dusted muscles shaped in the tower gymnasium, bronze hair in waist-length lovelocks, gold-shaded eyelids, bronze-gold eyes in that perfect face. Tall, splendid, polished as his tower skills of music and conversation and love.

And the words, the delicate, drawling poison, that he could plant, surer than a Navy gunner, in my heart.

Jealousy, oh, yes. There is an abundance in Sarth of both bile and balm. Sweet work-Mother, how he could make me cringe in those days, after the boys--after I lost my children. After we lost our children; for a man in Uphill Amberlight, children are the only pride. And the worst disaster: a first-born son.

Bitter, deforming, hideous decorum: that only after a House woman's first girl might her male children live. That cost me my first, and second, and third-born child; and with them my husband's love.

Small wonder he compounded that poison on Alkhes. To Sarth, no doubt, in his very person as much insult as antithesis. Small and black-avised and wearing what comes handy. No polish, except in warfare. Outlander. Worse than outland; rankless, nameless, certainly spy, probably mercenary, possibly renegade. Taken in, street flotsam, to our infirmary, our men's tower; named, by the qherrique itself, for the Dark, the holy quarter of the moon. Prisoner, sparring-partner, lover. House-head's favorite, suave in silk and rubies. Troublecrew, lithe and lethal in killer's black. In my bed, in my love; twined into my House.

Or was that Assandar? Before he lost his memory along with his money to that River Quarter gang? Coalition general, top-flight mercenary; imperial officer, caravan guardsman, with ties only to soldiery. Deadly in brawl or battle. Deadliest in his wits.

Resurrected with those memories, and locked in battle against me, the House, Amberlight. Is there any dividing them, troublecrew and mercenary, beloved and enemy, Alkhes and Assandar? Less one man than two at once.

And how will Sarth understand that?

Any more than he will understand Sarth?

But for the future, all our futures, that I glimpse--that I am trying to see--the men, these men, are the keystone. They have to understand. What do we have, if they cannot?

* * * *

As I write this, it is quiet; camp pitched at last, after more hours of chaos with folk who never had to find a new home every night. Fireglow on the patched dun Dhasdeini tent wall behind me, on shadow and motion I know better than the rhythms of my heart: Hanni with the handful of slates and tallies she already calls Head's records. Shia yet again stirring pots. Shapes that come and go, prowling our perimeter, Zuri, Azo, Verrith. Troublecrew at work. A snatch of acid voice out in the dust-light. Iatha, stewarding my House.

And the shadows that move inside my tent.

What are they doing? What do they say to each other? Twin shadows, one tall, one small; one with a stately elegance, one with a weapon's tempered grace. If not now, with a slung arm and three ribs in a cincture of bandages, with bruises, grazes, contusions everywhere, from the huge black eye to the blisters in a stranger's boots.

I tallied that damage this afternoon. All of it. When he caught us up. Obsessed lunatic, escaping, chased clear of the--catastrophe. Whatever the price. Salving, then abandoning his army, his conquest. Leaving a letter of resignation to the Emperor, before he cast himself, knowingly this time, on his enemies' mercy. Riding, doubly outcast, incurably stubborn, after us.

And there was water in the last, bigger stream our ramshackle caravan labored over; an upstream pool, relatively clear of stagnance, sheltered by plumes of gold-tinged poplar and clumpy silver-gray hellien. A place to water a horse, and tie it up. And then, behind the shield of Zuri and her troublecrew, strip down my restored man; to purge away travel, battle, an old life.

I put the borrowed soap and towels on a tussock. He had halted, his back to me; trying to decide, forespent and one-handed, what to tackle first. But when I walked up and put both arms around him, he sighed, and leant back into my embrace.

His good hand covered mine. I locked the other over it. How to speak, in the body's language, of joy beyond what had been mortal loss? I am too tall to burrow in his shoulder; he turned his face, burying it in my neck.

"Oh, Tel..."

Loss, and killing grief, and thankfulness, for what we had never thought to have again.

A long time after, he whispered, "I missed you so much..."

I started to undo the acrid, mud-smeared laborer's shirt. Miss him, yes. What words can shape the truth of "miss"? The ache, the physical ache of it, like a cancer, night after night?

"All down the River--in Dhasdein--in the siege--all I could think was--I have to get back..."

He was fumbling, one-handed, with what had been an infantryman's belt.

"Not just you--or this. I never understood what it meant, Tel. The--the House. I never had it before. Not belonging. Not like that."

House-folk. Community, fellowship. Precious beyond all empathies. Except one.

The sword-ties had trapped his hand. I freed it. Pulled the heavy buckle loose. Undid the trouser strings beneath, found the hard, sunken belly muscles below that, and he caught his breath and pushed backward, twisting to find my mouth.

"Oh, gods, Tel--"

He was dirty and bristly as a porcupine, I could not even hold him tight. And when I let go he swayed, pressing a hand into his side.

"We better stop." It was breathless as the shaky laugh. "Sorry--no good for any more. Not right now..."

I worked the shirt off, to bare the wad of soiled linen, wide as a packhorse's surcingle, that girdled his ribs. He slid down on another tussock and scrabbled at the ties of the heavy, cross-laced cavalry boots. But when I knelt and set his hand aside he battled it, catching his breath. "No, don't--Tellurith!"

The knots were solid. Drawing the boot-knife unearthed from some Verrainer's tent-kit, I felt his hand brush my hair.

Breast-long, crinkle-curled, brandy-brown hair of Amberlight. He had undone it, releasing its mazes, that first night.

"I thought--you'd send me back..."

It was less than a whisper. I looked up. Our eyes locked. I could have stayed forever, his hand on my shoulder, my arm across his thigh, he bending over me, gathered between his knees.

"You should have known better than that."

He lifted the hand to cup my cheek. I touched the splint's edge, luckily not unseated by zealous handling, and murmured, "I'm sorry. Back on the road ... Zuri was--upset."

"I expected it."

"I thought they might kill me. Before I got to you."

"Kill you! Sweet Mother--"

"They had the right."

I let go the boot, half-off. He stared past me, mouth set, that silky black wing of hair, matted now, falling in his eyes.

"I was troublecrew." He said it harshly. "One of them. I betrayed the trust."

"And you'd have let them finish you. For that?"

"I betrayed the House."

I worked one boot off. Started on the other. We both knew there was no reply to that.

"I had to go, Tel. Nothing could have stopped it. They'd made up their minds. All I could do was go back and try to get some say in it. Try to hold off the worst ... Gods, do you have any idea what it took to get that command?"

I had to go back, he had said to me, at that first parley, after his troops sealed Amberlight. I had contracts, I had obligations. I couldn't break them, and keep myself.

It made far more sense this time. Far harder, less noble, more likely sense, that our destruction was already destined, that Dhasdein and Verrain and Cataract had fixed on it, that he had indeed fought tooth and nail for the general's command. Not to have his revenge on us. Simply, as he had tried, over and over, to protect his new loyalties. To save as much as he could of Amberlight.

I pulled the second boot off. Stood up and held out my hands. When he reached his feet again, I touched his cheek and said, "I can guess."

Some of the strain went out of him, a long, soundless breath. Carefully, I worked the trousers down his hips. We were close beside the water. I gave him a hand down the stones.

It was evening, autumn, and a stream off the Iskans. He was out in two shaken gasps and I picked my way over him with the soap. When I took up the bucket he said, "I can get in again."

"We're upstream."

"Yes, of course--"

He stopped.

In some ways that was the worst moment of all. Worse than losing him that first time, thinking myself betrayed. For this was the new life. I had taken him into it. And now I saw the gulf between us: that he, even he, who had begun as a foot soldier, who could feel a child-bereft woman's grief, could so simply think--could just assume--it did not matter if we fouled the water.

With a camp of three hundred people downstream.

What woman of Amberlight could forget? Could act, were she the veriest stevedore, as if they were not part of her? Sweet work-Mother! I nearly shouted. You accused us of injustice! And you want to be part of us. Coming from a world like that: where even generals like you can't see the people underneath.

"Tel. Tel. I'm sorry. I didn't think. I'm not used--Tel, give me time. I'll work at it. It won't happen again."

And he would work at it, fast as he had understood, it needed no pledge beyond those inimitable wits.

He was huddled over, clutching the bad arm, shivering as hard as his chattering teeth. I yanked the bucket over and sank it with one vehement swirl, heaved up and ran it to his side. "Hold on. I'll be quick."

When I had him dry, a pair of someone's leggings, a Dhasdein infantry tunic and some cameleer's coat on him, the shivering had almost stopped. He picked up the dirty clothes himself. It was true, he would work at it. Azo took the horse. Walking back into camp, I touched his cheek again. "I don't have a razor, myself."

"There's one somewhere." Meaning his own makeshift kit, slung in a knapsack at the saddlebow. "Only I can't manage it..."

But someone else could. I pushed his hair back, clean now, if not so finely scented as once. "Will you let Azo take you wherever they've put me? I'll be back as soon as I can."

I had been Head when he first knew me. When did he not have to compete for my time? He moved the right arm to put it round me; winced. Tried to smile. "I won't be going anywhere."

* * * *

After four nights on the road I could hope my target would be at his self-appointed work; hence out of my camp, and handily open to approach. I caught him just walking from the pair of Dhasdein five-man infantry shelters that had become Ahio the shaper's tents.

He broke stride; swung round, mallet dangling. He smelt of cow dung and sweat instead of hyacinths, there was grease on his green and brown troublecrew shirt, his beautiful hair was tied back in a tail under yet another rascally straw hat. His features looked naked, without the men's house-veil, his exquisite skin was sunburnt. But he could still make my pulse jump with that smile.

"What brings me this honor, Tellurith?"

Once it would have slid malice like a stiletto, straight between your ribs. How can I say what it was, to hear honest amusement instead?

"I need you for something, of course." I smiled too, putting my hand on his arm. No hardship in either move. He was still so splendidly tall. And to him, fresh from the tower, there could be no greater compliment.

"A double honor. Might one ask...?"

It had all come so happily, it was so logical, so apt. But now, of a sudden, there was a constriction in my breath.

"I just wanted you to--ah--"

He was waiting, brows up, that lovely new, open smile.

Trust, warmth, love renewed. And I was going to smash it. With my own two hands.

"What is it, Tellurith?"

The voice had changed. In his own way he was as redoubtably shrewd as Alkhes. Just trained in a different field.

I looked up the five inches to those topaz eyes. So warm, so kind, so wholly concerned with me; the way he had used to ask, when nothing mattered more than solacing my woes.

"It's Alkhes."

I said it baldly. There was no other way.

"I see."

"No, you don't, Sarth, wait!" He had not moved. It was in himself he was going away from me, the warmth running like blood. "He didn't get killed, he came after us, he--"

"He's in your tent."

How much explanation, how much plea, can you put in a single word?

"I'll get my things out, now."

"No! Listen to me! That's not what I want!"

He stood there. Stone to the very eyes.

"You're my husband--"

"Just temporary."

The stiletto never cut so deep. I actually put a hand to my side. His muscles flexed to turn.

"Blast it, wait! It's not temporary! That's what I'm saying!"

It stopped him dead. All he could do was stare.

"He's your lover--"

"I told you--!"

"Your favorite."

I actually shook him. "Sarth, will you listen? This is not the tower and it's not Amberlight. We can do what we want now. I can do what I want. You're my husband and I've got you back. And I'm keeping you. I'm marrying him as well!"

For a while I thought he really had died. But eventually his face shifted. He started breathing again.

Looked down, and then, one by one, loosened my fingers from his arm.

"Tellurith." He actually sounded groggy. "Even for you, this is--"

"For me it's just good sense." I had not meant to break it this way, but there was no going back.

"But you can't--"

"We're on our own now, and I can!"

He shook his head. "I don't--"

"Do you want to go?"

People and beasts squirmed by us in the alleyway, children skirmished round our legs. The sky had gone ice-pink and lavender between the silhouettes of tent. I knew there were people, a whole camp's routine waiting on me. But for that moment, we were alone.

And at last, so slowly, he shook his head.

I felt my breath go out. "I know it won't be easy. I know I'm asking far too much. But if you could try..."

He was still looking at me. Those topaz eyes had darkened with the twilight, but he could not seem to blink. Then, once more, he shook his head.

My heart stopped. But he let the mallet drop. Groped for my hands. Held them, a clumsy blend of schooled grace and pure feeling, against himself.

"You want the craziest things." He was trying, like a man trying to walk with a broken leg, to smile. "And I can't imagine how to--but I'll try."

"Oh, Sarth." What sweet thankfulness, to come into his arms as Alkhes had into mine, to rest in safety, however briefly, my head on his chest.

"Oh, Tellurith." He smoothed my hair. "And now; what is it you want me to do?"

"I just thought--it was just an idea--"

"Just thought what?"

"We had this problem--"

"What problem?"

"I, ah--Tell me, can you shave someone else?"

"Naturally, we all learnt." The hidden smile was dying. Too much like recall to that frivolous, pointless life. Then his voice changed. "You don't mean--"

"Sarth, he's broken an arm and three ribs and he's been riding after us four days--Somebody has to do it! And I don't know how and outlanders are funny about depending on women at the best of times, and I thought--I thought--it would be a start..."

His muscles jerked and I nearly cringed. I had feared Sarth in malice. I had never felt him approach rage.

"Forget it, it was stupid, I'll think of something else..."

"No." The anger checked. Then he sighed and let me release myself. "I'll do it. You have enough to think about."

I kissed him. He held me gently, but close. When I stood back this time, the bystanders read it as conclusion, and moved in from all directions. I did not see him walk away.

* * * *

The Diaspora. Week 1.

Journal kept by Sarth

He was so blasted small. I stamped into that tent ready to bite him in half and spit out the bits, and he was huddled up on the floor against a saddlebag. Like a twelve-year-old bridegroom, just brought into the Tower. So blasted small. Nothing to spit.

He must have been half asleep. He felt me come in, jumped up, hit his arm--or the ribs--and doubled up. I grabbed him, down on my knees, before I thought. I've seen so many children come into the Tower. Little. Uprooted. Afraid.

"Steady," I think I said. "It's all right."

We were staring, a foot apart. He has these enormous eyes. Far too big for a grown man. Black as pitch. A whole night sky, in one human face.

He knew me, without a doubt. He tried to straighten--or stand up, outland soldiers have pride but absolutely no wits. "Whoa," I said. I had been prodding draught-bullocks all day. "I've seen Tellurith."

The last time we met he had seemed twice my size. An avenger, a demon with a dagger who filled Tellurith's rooms to the roof. And he threw me out. It should have been pleasant, to know we had exchanged boots.

I felt the bones in his shoulder move. Below its padding the faded roan infantry tunic bulked awry; the bandage round his ribs. His fingers clamped the bad arm's wrist.

"What did she say ... to you?"

The ribs had pinched his breath. It came out ragged. Masking the intonation. Telling me more about damage, and exhaustion, and being here alone, an exile, than Tellurith had explained.

I could have retorted, I imagine you know, or even, Don't you know? I could have said, Another of Tellurith's crazy ideas. She wants to marry us both. Or, She expects me to open gates with you. Somehow. But the first two were war-signals, and the next friends' talk. And the last was franker than I could manage. Then.

We were still staring, all but nose to nose. The eyes had got bigger. Or the face had shrunk, under the beard-shadow, the bruise. A scrap of a man, hurt, tired, hunted into a corner. Cold. Afraid.

I had moved before I knew it, too. As if he were just another new, unkempt boy. I pushed the hair out of his eyes and drew my palm on down the black bristle on his jaw.

"She asked," I said, "if someone could help you shave."

He froze solid. I should think his very heart stopped. And in that moment, I understood.

Just as he took a great breath, and clutched his ribs and got out through it, "...never know--how m-much..."

The ribs pinched him on the stammer, that came from his chattering teeth. The sense was clear as a flag. Relief; apology; thankfulness; gratitude, decently controlled.

I found the cameleer's jacket they had given him, and put it round his shoulders. Outside it was quite dark, and the sound of Shia's pots said supper was close. "It's warmer out there," I said, "though you may not believe it. And I could do with supper first."

We did not wait for Tellurith. He was past keeping a House-head's schedule, whose one certainty is Late. Azo, of all people, dour scar-cheeked troublecrew, cut up what meat Shia missed, so he fed himself. My own razor was in the camp gear. Imported ivory handle, chased Dhasdein steel. Shia let me thieve hot water. We went back inside, for the steadier light, he splashed water and worked up a lather one-handed. I took the razor, and gathered myself up.

And he shut his eyes and lifted his face like a child ready to be washed. Offering me, offering the razor, his unprotected throat.

* * * *

Tellurith was back before we finished. A shadow against the coals, head tilted from the papers in her lap. Bronze-crinkle Craft plait, every hair etched by firelight, the high cheekbones and arrogant jaw. Features I can shape from memory, in the dark, in my sleep. Like the question, the anxiety, the dawning, vindicated, once more successful gleam in those narrow chestnut eyes.

"There you are." Scrambling up to meet us, a hand on my chest, on his intact arm. A smile for me. For him a scrutiny, then a butterfly, multiply significant touch on the cheek.

And then to me, "Do you want the last hot water, before we turn down?"

Old House usage. Dim the qherrique, that was both light and heat, for the night. Not so subtle reminder that they had bathed, as I had not. Horrifying signal that she was going to throw us all in bed together. Right now.

I think I managed not to gulp. Hot water? I wanted a full, hour-long bath. I wanted skin softener and hair wash and perfume, a manicure, my eye make-up, a face-veil and jewelry, sheets on my bed. Not to wash and shave by guess behind a wagon in the cold and dark, then fall into dirty blankets with my hair still stinking of sweat. And not, Mother save us, with another man!

One is grateful, at times, for the discipline of the Tower. I was thankful, at least, that she waited for me by the coals rather than give him first possession of the tent. Even if she waited in his arms.

The tent was a Verrain subaltern's, built for one man and his servant, and that only while he dressed. It was actually an honor that Tellurith had one, technically, to herself. Otherwise we would have bedded down in the big infantry shelter. Figure such antics under the eyes of Shia and Azo and Hanni and her husband, and the Mother knows who else.

The Tower taught me, long ago, the dance of entry and apportion in shared territory, but it is always so delicate. This one was damnably delicate. And I was so tired. So tired I sat down like a peasant on a pack-bag and left arrangements to Tellurith.

So it was my own fault we wound up with a blanket on the ground canvas under us, and two beneath the Dhasdein officer's cloak atop. And Tellurith nearest the door--"in case there's trouble in the night"--and me against the wind-side wall. And the third between us: on his side to protect his broken ribs, and his bad arm, if you please, pillowed on my chest. "Because you're the right size, Sarth. And you don't thrash about."

It is true, she sleeps like a net-cork in a gale. And true too, though she does not know, that I have learnt to tender fragile bed-mates in my sleep. How many times, in the Tower, has a boy with homesickness or some direr fever ended in my bed?

Outside the Tower, rumor has some nasty words for it. And sometimes, they are true, whether from lust or loneliness--too often you sleep solitary, even with five wives--or from honest love.

Perhaps such shadow territory stretches beyond the Tower. Certainly, no boy inside it ever made such a fuss.

* * * *

The Diaspora. Week 1.

Meditations. Alkhes-Assandar

He was so damned big. I'd dropped off when they left me alone. Three nights huddled in ditches with the bridle over my arm ... I was still on hunt alert. So I jumped up the minute the shadow moved and there he was, right on top of me. Ten feet tall.

And so damned handsome. Built big, but perfect shape. Long legs, broad shoulders, narrow hips. Face like a temple sculpture. Not pretty. A man's model. And those cursed lion's eyes.

I remember him from Amberlight, got up like an artist's whore, all gold-dust and jewels and paint. The sod's better-looking without. Even with his nails broken and his hair uncurled and axle grease all over his shirt.

I expected him to hit me. Or to snipe. He's got a tongue like a Heartland poison dart. I don't know why he shut up. Or why he touched me, but it scared me dumb. If I'd been less cold, and less damaged, and less--daunted--I would have hit out myself. There are plenty of those around the court. In Dhasdein. Even in Cataract, sometimes. And they seem to like my looks.

And then Tellurith had to put me in bed with him. Like a damned woman, plastered all over his chest.

I have been in bed with men before. Not at court. In the field, on picket, or a retreat, you can get caught without blankets. Or even a cloak. When a raid hits the caravan, and you wind up on a sandhill with your gear on a camel thirty miles away, in one of those freezing Verrain desert nights. Or you can have wounded, and sometimes, to keep warm's their only chance.

But I do not, not, not expect to wind up beside a man who looks like the River-lord's statue, with the woman I'm supposed to have married on my other side.

May I be hung if he doesn't look better in bed than Tellurith as well. All that hair--longer than hers, and thicker--spread out over the saddlebags like black-bronze silk. Profile like a cursed--statue. Plenty of muscle to fill out the blankets. And of course he'd never dribble or break wind. I doubt the bastard so much as snores.

Not that I had a chance to find out. If the rest hadn't done for me, Tellurith did. Dropped sleep-syrup in the last tea we had, waiting for--Sarth--to wash. I knew by my next morning mouth. But after that, I hardly got past, "I can't sleep in there, wait, listen, Tellurith..."

And part of it, gods know, was the relief. Oh, gods, to have that pain stop. To rest a broken bone on something not too hard, not too soft, just the right height. And not have to move again. To know yourself back in friendly lines. Safe.

* * * *

The Diaspora. Week 2.

Tellurith's Diary

The old poet was right, when she said that leaving your City is only to take it with you somewhere else. But even with it half a moon dead behind you, on what else do you pattern your life?

Which may be why, along with grief, and loss's aftermath, and remembered ruin, not to mention wrestling these Mother-forsaken bullocks and more forsaken wagons along this most forsaken mule-track, I have had to break up a war tonight.

Two women. Two cutters. Cousins of Charras, my senior power-Crafter, married amiably ten years to the same man. Coming to blows, to woken cutter blades, over who should bed him first.

It must be memory that terrifies me so, to see a cutter woken like that. Memory of the great light-guns, that I designed, that Diaman and Keranshah built along with us, shearing through wood and metal and flesh and bone on the glacis of Amberlight. Of that sick jerk as the blade in my own hand met naked flesh. But to see those white beams clash in the twilight, and know they threatened my own kind...

I broke it up, of course. House-head skills, ingrained House discipline. A couple of bellows, and Azo and Zuri were there to back me. If they had not stopped.

If they had not stopped ... Azo or Zuri with an arm gone, a thigh slagged, a foot cut off. If they had not stopped...

It will be better once we arrive. When we can shed the nightmare of pursuit, of fresh massacre along this pestilent bog-rut. When we can settle into the new life.

A relief to know we are expected; that it is all right--or as all right as three hundred strange mouths at the heel of autumn may be. The light signal came back today. I sent Iatha, House steward, with Hayras and Quetho, the closest I have to Craft-heads, and Desis: troublecrew, sometime raider, scout. All well, the signal said. Report follows. Desis will be riding back with it, firsthand information, right now.

* * * *

A tidy enough village, it sounds. Forty to fifty permanent houses, perhaps four hundred souls. Mother bless, room to spare; quarters for the summer quarrymen. And a negotiable ascent. Better than this pig-wallow where we have had to shore every bridge; Desis is developing an engineer's eye.

I could have sent a genuine one, but Alkhes is still not fit to sit a horse. And to judge from Desis' words, I was wise.

"The Ruand, ah." Hunkered on her heels, sipping the last tea by my fire. "Reckon she's a bit of a character." A pause. A shake of her alert, cropped, troublecrew head. "They stick to the old ways, up there."

Troublecrew, so she will not warn me outright: Ruand, we are headed for the backwoods, where they make myths of Dhasdein and an ogre of Cataract. Where men's rule has not merely never threatened, but is still undreamt. Where newfangled revolutions might be more danger than they are worth.

I was considering that...

No. I was still refusing to consider that when, behind me, someone spoke.

"That water's getting cold."

The last hot water of the night. Saved with love's care, with steely determination. Offered in Sarth's dark velvet voice.

With Sarth himself hunched at my back, one hand thistledown-soft on my shoulder point.

From Alkhes it would have been nothing, but from Sarth? Bred and trained in the tower, in Amberlight, where men are taught from birth not to ask?

Six nights I had been sleeping with them both, too tired and too tense to think of anything more. After this news it would be worse. As he, with the remnants of that men's gossip-net, would know.

The bath would warm me, the other would help me sleep. That too, he had long known.

The rest had to begin some time.

I got up, and offered him a hand. When he took it, I said, "You can come and scrub my back."

* * * *

The Diaspora. Week 2.

Meditations. Alkhes-Assandar

The bastard! The scurvy, sneaking, double-crossing whore!

I should have thought. Should have expected it. She said, Both of us. She took him back. He fought for her. She was with him while I--was blowing up, tearing down her life. She even loves the bastard. I can tell that. She has a right. She has every right!

But oh, gods, it hurts.

I thought I could manage it. Whatever happened, I have to wait. You can't please yourself, let alone a woman, when every stray move folds you up like a busted tent. And I'm so tired. Not just the damage. Trying to stay on my horse, trying to make these stubborn, lamebrain, deaf-and-blind women do some things right--gods, with two pentarchs and some discipline, I could cut five days off this march. If I even had a sapper who'd pay attention at the creeks! But Zuri's are the only ones who listen. Most are shapers or power-crew. They don't know me, they don't trust me, they damn well don't like me. I betrayed their Head and wrecked their House. And blew up Amberlight.

And Tellurith, I could shake her, leaves me stuck with--him. Not enough he has to help me dress and shave and even eat. He heaves me on the blasted wagon. When things go wrong and I try to swing a pick for them--if the ribs catch, he has to pick me up!

I can bear with that. I can bear his nursemaiding. I can bear to sleep with him. But gods above, how dare the dung-eating bastard slip in and sleep with her!

I could swipe his head off. I could cut his guts out. I could kill him. One good kick in the throat.

But the look on her face. When they finally came in. Hand in hand. With that whore smirking from ear to ear. And Tellurith--not worried for once. That smile. That look.

Oh, gods, it hurts.

* * * *

The Diaspora. Week 2.

Journal kept by Sarth

In the Mother's name, if I must endure exile, have I to suffer barbarity as well? Am I not perpetually unbalanced by a man who acts like a House-head and looks like an injured boy? Have I not the right, after shepherding him from every piece of mischief in the day's march, to offer comfort to my own wife? And if, for the opulence of an upper level Tower room, with its cushions and rugs and drapes, the elegant artistry, the leisured music and conversation, all by the glow of the qherrique, I can substitute only a quick cold tumble in the dark, must I bear a ruffian's tantrums at its end?

Bad enough when he refused to sleep between us that night. No explanation. No manners about it either. Mother, he could use a spell in the Tower. Worse when Tellurith went off early, without a word, so I had to help him dress. And when I offered it, he tore the shirt out of my hands.

I am Tower-bred. I said only, "What is it, Alkhes?"

"You slime!"

"Bed her while I can't--slip off with her--you cheating thief!"

No time for bewilderment. Less for shock. Had he been whole, I would already have died. As he started for me, I said, "So predictable. Your only art."

"And for me, one hand will be enough."

It stopped him like a fist. Tellurith says I have a stiletto tongue.

"You might consider," I was less angry but just as ashamed of myself, "what Tellurith wants."

He was trying to get his breath. As if I had struck him in good truth.

"Will it please her, if you kick my face in? If we go brawling like a pair of dogs? Do you ever think about what she feels? Did you consider how she felt, last night?"

His lips moved. Nothing came out. If those eyes get any bigger, I was thinking, I will drown.

Blessed Mother, why did you curse me with Tower training? Why do I lack a soldier's cruelty? A soldier's callousness?

I took the long step forward to grasp his shoulder and said, "I mean the news Desis brought."

There must be discipline in soldiery after all. He was still linen-white, but the lips, however stiffly, could move.

"What news?"

"The Iskans. The village. They're traditionalists."

"That means women rule. There'll be a matriarch."

I might as well have told him camels could fly.

"So," I said patiently, "she may well doubt folk who've decided to pull the Tower down. To let the men out. And put two of them in the Ruand's tent."

The lips moved. Maybe it was, "Oh."

"Don't you think, last night, Tellurith might have been a little--concerned--about that?"

The eyes had got bigger. Too big, far too black. I am a total fool as well as Tower-bred. I put both hands on his shoulders as if he were a compatriot, a cousin, a new young bridegroom. A friend.

"I didn't mean to distress you." At that moment, it was the truth. "I was thinking about her."

He put the good hand to his side. There are times I have seen Tellurith do that. With just such a look on her face.

"I'm sorry." Sometimes it is easier than you would imagine. "Now and then my words are sharp."

His breath jerked, almost as if shaken into a laugh. Then he took the hand away. Looked up in my eyes and said, "No. You were right."

I tightened my grip. Fine-twisted muscle, slender bones, steely tendons. Frail as his soldier's pride. His exile's confidence.

"I have to--"

He stopped. Took another sip of breath.

"We have to--sort this out."

I let go. Sort what out? I wanted to say. You are an outlander, a killer, a barbarian. In Amberlight, no decent woman would put you in her Tower.

But we were not in Amberlight.

And you, said another, more accusing voice, have Tower skills, if he does not.

And you promised Tellurith: I'll try.

"You are there for the woman," I said. "That is what I learned. What she wants, when she wants. Be ready, be waiting. Be patient. Learn to read her wish. Learn about her friends, her work. Remember that they matter more to her. Never ask. Never importune. Always, put the woman first."

Teach to learn, Sethar used to say, wisest of men, in my own youth. I seemed only to have struck this one dumb.

I picked up the shirt. He caught and checked my hand. The eyes were alive now. Enormous, but no longer dazed, sparking like midnight qherrique.

"You're telling me this--you're not telling me this because it's what you want. But to explain how it was. Because you don't understand me. But you do understand yourself."

"No," he read my eyes, "let me try ... I was raised outside Amberlight. It's--the quickest way to say it is: men come first."

He produced a bleak little smile. "Yes, reverse everything you said. Well, almost everything. Women out here do have more freedom than you. But men..."

He paused, and frowned. "It doesn't reverse properly. Because Tellurith's always shared. But men out here--don't share."

I let the shirt fall. He gave a quick, jerky nod.

"I didn't expect--I didn't think I'd feel like that. I never meant to--unload it on you. On anyone. It just--hurt too much."

He thought she was his property. No, he had been taught she was his property. His sole property. So his response, instilled as mine, had been the opposite.

"I thought I could handle it. But..."

I put a finger to his lips. Warmth, breath, the soul of him, alive under my touch.

"Let me try. It was a knee-kick, both sides." The jerk the physicians tap out to test if your nerves are sound. "We were both at fault."

His eyes spoke. I pressed the finger tight. Now, something within me said. You took one step to save yourself and another to rescue him. Take a third, for us both. For us all.

"I don't understand you, yet. But I promised Tellurith. I will try."

I took my hand away. He blinked.

"To make this--us--work."

Something happened to his face. Then he put his own hand up, as if to feel my touch, on his mouth.

But he was still the outlander, the soldier. Among whom, I find, treaty terms and boundaries must be spelt out.

"So can we agree," for an instant he shut his eyes, "that whatever--whoever--she wants, she gets?"

She has never, I did not say, operated on any other terms.

"And that we--let her make the choice?"

What would be different?

"And," he swallowed, "that we don't--compete?"

There I finally woke to sense.

"We can agree whatever we like. The question is, what does she think?"

He clapped his hand back over his face. I caught at it in alarm, and he lowered it, with another long, shaken breath.

"I keep forgetting. I keep fouling it up." He looked up at me with eyes where rage and jealousy were weirdly entangled with guilt. "And I used to think you were a--a--"

"Clothes-horse?" Whatever was in my smile, he winced. "That you're outland doesn't make you a fool."

He started to speak. Stopped. Then he shook his head.

"And the code you talk ... I'll try to remember that as well."

Then he thrust out the good hand and looked me straight in the eye.

"We let her make the rules, then. We try--I'll try--not to fight over her. Not to--lose my head again. Not to," a wry, bitter smile, "put it off on you."

What use to recall the Tower, where he would have learnt to manage all this, or to let it out mannerly, from birth? I took his hand. When he let go, I decided he was chastened enough for the risk. I picked up the shirt for the third time and enquired, "And now, would you consider getting dressed?"

Mother be blessed, he laughed.

* * * *

Wits, then, despite being outlander. Sharp enough to learn, perhaps. Certainly to encourage me in idiocy. So at the first hold-up that day, when half a bridge-span's edge caved in under Zariah's bullock-cart, and he scampered down to embroil himself in the uproar, I dared to touch his arm.

"What the--!" He had spun so fast I jumped back myself. "Oh ... Gods, be careful doing that!"

It takes no troublecrew to know a killer's reflex. But he was past that already. "What is it--uh--"

A fresh cascade of diggers and riggers poured round us, halfway down the flattening track past the bridge bastion. Good solid Iskan stone, with dry grass, and shadow, at its foot.

Following me into it, wary, almost suspicious, he repeated, "What is it--ah--Sarth?"

Another giant step. One, pest on him, I could only match.

"Uh--Alkhes. May I suggest something?"

The eyes focused. The eyebrows flicked. A gesture down into the creek, where they were wading about, disputing and quarrelling, around the debris. "About that?"

"Um. Yes."

He waited. He was going to listen. More than you can say for Zuri's lot, whose best response is a courteous pat on the rump.

"Let them get on with it. It may take time. But it's what they need."

The eyes sharpened. "Need?"

I was far outside decorum. Far beyond my place, to explain women to an outside man. "Ask Tellurith. I have to get back--"

"Wait just one moment!" He actually caught my sleeve. The eyes skewered me. "Need what?"

"Ask her. I can't explain it. It's not my place--"

"What do they need?"

"It's not my business, Alkhes!"

"All right, I'm sorry." He came the step back with me. I have never seen the general, or the outlander, or the Mother-forsaken, terrifying wits of him, so clear. "I'll ask Tellurith. I'll think about it. They need their way. And," the eyes sharpened, "it isn't mine."

He came with me up the bank, back to Charras' bullocks, which I was trying to help drive that day. He held cups when I heaved the water-jar down for her three children; boiled water, to keep them from disease as well as the creek. He listened as we talked. Settled beside me, quiet, and willing, attentive as any novice, and terrifying as a leashed tiger-cub, in the shade where we decided to wait.

He would have been an ornament to a Tower after all. He does not learn by questions. He listens, and looks.

And thinks.

* * * *

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Black “Grip” 4 Prong Strainer

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Designed just like the common 4-prong strainer, it features the 4 side prongs to fit on the rim of your mixing glass or shaker tin to aid in stability.

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Its a cool strainer
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standard, like the tin I just ordered, don't know if the texture is going to chip off easily yet.
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Stocks Flat; Morgan Stanley Rising

Having a good morning
Having a good morning AP

The leading stock indexes are flat this morning ahead of the final session before the three-day weekend.

On the rise, however, are shares of Morgan Stanley (MS), up more than 6% after the bank swung to a quarterly profit and said revenues increased 23%. CEO James Gorman called the results "a pivot point" for the bank. Excluding accounting charges, profit was 45 cents a share, well ahead of consensus estimates of 27 cents.

Also seeing a nice post-earnings bump are shares of State Street (STT), up 5% after it reported a 15% rise in profits and beat Wall Street estimates. The custody bank also said it plans to cut 630 jobs, 2% of its workforce.

Capital One Financial's (COF) stock is falling, down 7% in the wake of last night's disappointing earnings and outlook.

Shaping up to be one of the day's big risers is Life Technologies (LIFE), whose stock is up more than 10% after it said in a brief statement that it has hired Deutsche Bank Securities and Moelis & Company "to assist in its annual strategic review." That news chimes with a newspaper report published yesterday, according to Reuters:

The Financial Post reported on Thursday that the Carlsbad, California-based company had started a process that might see it acquired either by a private equity firm as part of a leveraged buyout or by one of the larger global industry players.

Also seeing gains are shares of Rio Tinto (RIO), up about 2.4% today following yesterday's 0.5% drop. I wrote about the turmoil at the mining company yesterday, but after the mild reaction Thursday, investors seem over the shock of CEO Tom Albanese's sudden resignation and evidently like what they see.

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In the heart-warming 1947 movie classic Miracle on 34th Street, a nice man claiming to be Santa Claus at Macy's is institutionalized as insane. Terry Lundgren, Macy's M -1.5378043571123452% Macy's Inc. U.S.: NYSE USD23.05 -0.36 -1.5378043571123452% /Date(1495573358865-0500)/ Volume (Delayed 15m) : 5471785 AFTER HOURS USD23.1 0.05 0.21691973969631237% Volume (Delayed 15m) : 59543 P/E Ratio 12.423866760092707 Market Cap 7128344953.53699 Dividend Yield 6.550976138828633% Rev. per Employee 170904 More quote details and news » CEO, knows what it's like to have doubters, too

When Lundgren, 60, took the reins of the retailing giant almost 10 years ago, the prevailing view was that department stores were dying, if not already dead. Yet today the nation's largest department-store operator, with an estimated $27.7 billion in 2012 sales, is experiencing one of the best periods in its 154-year history. Lundgren has even engineered his own miracle on 34th Street, site of Macy's flagship New York store, by ensuring that Macy's (ticker: M) keeps winning market share, even against a backdrop of sluggish consumer spending and entrenched department-store decline.

The Armani-clad CEO resembles James Bond actor Pierce Brosnan, without the gun and martini. When he enters the same wood-paneled room used in filming Miracle at Macy's Herald Square store, it is easy to see why, as Bachelor No. 2, he won the date as a contestant on the TV show Dating Game back in 1972. Amiable, charming, and blessed with fashion antennae, he hardly seems a guy with the grit to cut 7,000 jobs to save the company. But save it he did, in 2009, at the depths of the Great Recession, and Macy's has been thriving ever since.

Lundgren has defied legions of skeptics by lifting Macy's sales, profit, and market share. Brad Trent for Barron's

After three years of strong operating performance and a record black Friday in 2012, Lundgren says chances are "good" that the company will smash previous holiday sales levels. Even after a slow November overall, he is expecting Macy's to report a 4.2% uptick in sales in the fiscal fourth quarter ending Jan. 28 in stores open at least a year.

MACY'S HAS COME A LONG way since 2008, when same-store sales declined by 4.6%. Lundgren, who has spent his entire career in retailing, pushed through a massive reorganization the following year, dismantling the company's regional structure to emphasize local decision-making. "Not everyone agreed with me, but my stomach told me it was right," he says.

To those around him, Lundgren appeared unflappable and committed. "He looks like 007 for a reason," says Sean "Diddy" Combs, the rapper turned haberdasher, who founded the Sean Jean clothing line sold at Macy's. When sales dropped and it didn't look like they'd bounce back, Lundgren was "able to keep the same game face," says Combs. "He comes through."

Adds Allen Questrom, former chairman of Macy's (then known as Federated Department Stores) and an advisor to New York's Lee Equity Partners. "This industry eats its young. Macy's ability to grow and thrive is due to Lundgren's ability to continually reinvent."

Just now, in fact, the company is reinventing the Herald Square store, adding a much-needed dash of glamour via a $400 million face-lift, due to be completed in 2015.

MACY'S OPERATES 798 Macy's and 49 Bloomingdale's stores from joint headquarters in New York and Cincinnati. Federated purchased R.H. Macy in 1994, and May Department Stores in 2005. The consolidated company was rebranded as Macy's in 2007.

Under Lundgren, who has run the show since 2003, sales have increased by more than 80%, and net income has doubled. Macy's is expected to earn $1.4 billion, or $3.40 a share, in the current fiscal year, rising to $3.76 a share in fiscal 2014. The company's stock-market value has more than doubled during his tenure, to $14.7 billion, and the shares, at $37, are up 15% this year. Macy's trades for about 10 times earnings, a discount to the Standard & Poor's Retail Select Industry index.

This year's holiday season was helped by an extra weekend in the pre-Christmas calendar. In addition, Lundgren's localization program, called My Macy's, empowered buyers to order what local customers want, whether it was extra-large cooking pots in Utah or more glittery apparel in Miami Beach. Macy's also made a big effort to boost online sales, with orders filled for the first time from inventory at 322 stores and a new West Virginia warehouse as large as 46 football fields. Then, there was extra training for the sales staff.

Exclusivity is one thing that has helped Macy's stand out in a market pressured from above by upscale department stores and boutiques, and from below by the likes of J.C. Penney (JCP), Kohl's (KSS), and Target (TGT). The company has long been a leader in private-label merchandising, and has a strong store-brand program as well as exclusive arrangements with designers. As a result, it claims that 43% of its products are unique. Store-brand goods also carry higher profit margins.

LUNDGREN GREW UP IN Long Beach, Calif., and was the first of his family's six children to graduate from college. His first taste of retailing was carting expensive suits of the sort he would one day wear between a tailor and a menswear store. School came easily at the University of Arizona—too easily at first. His grades slipped because he was having "too good of a time," he recalls, at his fraternity.

At that point Lundgren's father, who worked two jobs, one assembling factory speakers and another selling real estate, cut him off financially. "I told my dad he was ruining my life," says Lundgren. "And my Dad said, 'No, son, you are ruining your life.' "

Lundgren found a job shucking oysters, obtained a student loan, and started getting his act together. "I found that when I had a lot of time on my hands, I wasted it," he says. "When I had no time, I could be very productive."

He lifted his grades to As, was elevated to restaurant manager, and switched his major to business from pre-veterinary studies after participating in a project to artificially inseminate a cow.

After college, Lundgren was hired as an assistant buyer in the stationery department at Bullock's, an upscale Los Angeles department-store chain owned by Federated. He hustled to hit sales goals, once stuffing boxes of Lenox Eternal china, which Macy's still carries, in the back seat of his Volkswagen to carry to a store that had run out.

Lundgren also sought out people he could learn from and found a mentor in Questrom, a retailing legend with whom his career has been intertwined. Management took note of Lundgren's work ethic, and he eventually was promoted to president and CEO of Bullock's Wilshire, Federated's most upscale Los Angeles store. With his prior experience limited to housewares, he says, "I thought, 'Oh, my God, what am I going to do?' "

It wasn't the first time Lundgren would be promoted to a position for which he felt unqualified. But each time, he succeeded, by both seeking advice and motivating those below him. He made a favorite saying, "bloom where planted," emblematic of his own career.

Lundgren's accomplishments piled up until Canadian financier Robert Campeau bought Federated in 1988 and forced the sale of the Bullock's division to Macy's. His phone rang at seven one morning during that fateful year, and the caller, from Women's Wear Daily, asked, "How does it feel to be replaced?"

Hours later, Lundgren was summoned to a meeting with Macy's CEO Ed Finkelstein to make a presentation. When asked if he was, indeed, to be ousted, Finkelstein, he reports, looked around the room and asked sheepishly, "Oh, is that out?"

Lundgren made the presentation anyway, "because it was right" to do.

LUNDGREN WASN'T OUT OF work for long. Questrom, his mentor, had since become CEO of Neiman Marcus, which Lundgren joined as executive vice president. He soon forged a close relationship with retired chairman Stanley Marcus, whom he calls "the greatest retailer of all time." From Marcus, he says, he learned how to balance putting the customer first while still meeting earnings goals, a skill that eluded many lesser and long-gone merchants.

By 1990, Federated was listing under the debt Campeau had piled on. Questrom joined the company to try to fix it, and Lundgren, at age 37, stepped into his mentor's shoes as CEO of Neiman Marcus. There he perpetuated Questrom's goals of improving customer service and offering a dazzling assortment of goods.

Questrom lured Lundgren to Federated in 1994, and charged him with integrating the private-label businesses of Macy's and Federated. Some he strengthened, including INC, a women's fashion brand. Others he started from scratch, such as American Rag for young men, and the Hotel Collection, a line of premium linens. The company's 16 in-house brands have grown to 20% of sales today from just 5% in 1994.

More recently, Lundgren has tackled another branding headache stemming from the May acquisition, which brought into the fold multiple department-store chains. But, without a unified brand and platform across which to assign costs, Lundgren had trouble justifying national advertising campaigns. The solution was to rebrand as Macy's venerated retailers such as Chicago's Marshall Field's, a move that caused the predictable uproar in local communities. Lundgren flew around the country smoothing feathers, and even won the support of Chicago Mayor Richard Daley. A single platform has helped the company since in negotiating exclusive contracts with designers such as Tommy Hilfiger, Martha Stewart, and Combs.

In the early 2000s Combs came to Lundgren with an idea for an aspirational brand of suits for a younger audience. "He was the first person to believe in me," says Combs. "He was like a godfather."

FROM ITS FLAGSHIP STORE TO its famous Thanksgiving parade, Macy's is a New York icon, and Lundgren's perch has made him a player in the city's economic and cultural life. He dines with the fabled restaurateur Danny Meyer, serves as a director of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, and sits on the boards of the United Way of New York City and Carnegie Hall. But he doesn't make the social scene with his star-studded business associates unless it benefits Macy's; that's a personal rule.

Even closer to his heart than his public obligations is mentoring Macy's high-performing managers, with whom he meets in groups for breakfast at least once a month. Ideas generated at Breakfast Club gatherings often get fast-tracked; a suggestion for a Macy's app that helps shoppers navigate stores and find discounted items was one. Managers also have nudged Lundgren to enact better recycling and energy-saving policies, which he has done. "I love listening to their ideas," he says. "They end up mentoring me."

At the end of Miracle on 34th Street, Santa is released from the insane asylum. After 10 successful years at Macy's helm, Lundgren has silenced doubters, too.

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The best combination of upside and modest risk is Vanderbilt's Kyle Wright.

Adam Groesbeck Has Future Plans In Place

Flying High

Adam Groesbeck is fourth in the nation in hitting, but baseball is secondary.

Dan McDonnell Gets 500 Behind Brendan McKay’s Gutty Effort

Gutting It Out

Louisville coach got his 500th win, thanks to a player who's had a hand in many.


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Ben Franklin and George Whitefield Debate the Purpose of Education | @ThomasSKidd @TGC
Fundamentalism, Feminism, and Other Curse Words: Teaching Controversy with Civility @AndreaLTurpin @USReligionBlog
Christians, in an Epochal Shift, Are Leaving the Middle East - @WSJ
the smell of strawmen burning – @ayjay on arguing with Rusty Reno
'Sad, but Not Unhappy': J.R.R. Tolkien's Sorrowful Vision of Joy – Ralph Wood
Ten anti-Catholic calumnies refuted - Piers Paul Read on Rodney Stark's Bearing False Witness @StandpointMag
Five Things You Should Know About Reinhold Niebuhr | Elesha Coffman, @CTmagazine
Alternative Scriptures: Which Old Testament? Philip Jenkins, @anxious_bench
Should Donald Trump Be Removed from Office? | Thomas Kidd @TGC
Thomas Kidd talks about 'Benjamin Franklin: The Religious Life of a Founding Father' with the @mattklewis podcast

The Dark Knight and the Saint: Reflections on Batman and St. Augustine

Tuesday, September 25 2012
3:30 p.m.
Baylor Science Building, D110

“The Dark Night and the Saint” explores the moral world of Gotham City and the late Roman Empire through the lens of the Batman and the great Saint, Augustine, respectively. In the wake of the Colorado movie theater massacre, a number of commentators have condemned the film or raised questions about the role the film allegedly played in bestirring the shooter to violence. Professor Elshtain will argue that this is a terrible misunderstanding of the moral world of the Batman and, as well, that St. Augustine pierces through the darkness and assists us in orienting ourselves to the light—as the Batman himself does in a situation of profound moral ambiguity.


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dawnGood morning America..

Published in Latest Buzz

Dick-Morris-Fox-News“Prediction: Romney 325, Obama 213”

Published in Latest Buzz

marijuana-lightWhile the focus has been on the election battles of Obama vs. Romney, US House of Representatives and U.S. Senate for control of Congress, there are a number of other issues on the ballots in the respective states.  Some are very emotionally-based and hot button.

Published in Latest Buzz

UNThroughout the world, wars are raging, dictatorships are suppressing individual freedoms, millions of people are hungry and too many are dying due to inadequate medical care.

Published in Latest Buzz

Optimized-Election-2012People are early voting in record numbers all over America.  Here in my home state of Louisiana, election participation is up 25% over the presidential election just four years ago.

Published in Latest Buzz

Health reformThe second presidential debate did little to shed new light on either candidate.  For President Obama he gave his campaign stump speech in answer to every question he was asked.  Mitt Romney gave his most compelling argument in favor of defeating the president by saying the American people can do better.

Published in Latest Buzz
  • Cat Fights on the Hot Cement Confederate New Orleans statues
  • Ex-Saints, Bears, Bills, NFL Exec, Jim W. Miller discusses NFL Draft tomorrow
  • Trump's new plan; Curtains on tax returns release; 40% say Trump-Russia; Probing Obama admin
  • Watch Louisiana Governor Edwards talk about CAT Tax failure

catRarely, have I seen few issues that have generated as much raw heat, tension, and passion than the Confederate monuments controversy.

Just as existed during the real civil war, where brothers battled brothers, social media is the battleground, particularly Facebook, pitting friend against friend.

On one side of the tense divide, there are those who are protecting the New Orleans civil war era monuments.  Burnt in effigy, forever, is the symbol of Mayor Mitch Landrieu for up-ending what the monument protectors consider to be the loving civil society of New Orleans.

Lately, events have turned somewhat militaristic.

Some protectors of the Confederate monuments have been staying vigilant, in person and online, even surveilling during the wee hours of the morning, waiting for the next Mayor Landrieu attack. On Sunday morning, with protections of snipers, masked workers and a dumbstruck audience, the worst of all of the monuments was cut and carried., the Liberty Monument.

Read More

miller nfl live2 5It’s D-Day or Draft Day tomorrow in the NFL.

More specifically, Thursday represents the first day of the NFL draft 2017.

Read More

trump curtainsThe major President Trump news of the day focuses upon taxes, not only the tax cuts he is proposing but his own taxes, which he obviously, refuses to unveil.

Read More

edwards play money 1

At a press conference today, Louisiana Governor John Bel Edwards said the CAT Tax did not pass the House Ways and Means Committee.  The Governor, in addressing the media said that "the fate of that bill was decided long before we unveiled it".

Read More

Sen. Appel talks budget, economy

Dead Pelican

Optimized-DeadPelican2 1 1


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[Bazar Pakistan] - UPS

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APC 750=500W/24V UPS by Sehar Engineerings with 1 year warranty. We make it applicable to charge up to 200AH battery easily. For 2 fans and 4 bulbs in rupees 5000/- only

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North West Wales

Old Colwyn: Woman, 86, dies after collision with car

An 86-year-old pedestrian has died after she was involved in a collision with a car.

North Wales Police were called to Abergele Road in Old Colwyn, Conwy, at about 22:00 GMT on Saturday.

The woman was taken to Ysbyty Glan Clwyd, and was later pronounced dead.

Police said the car involved was a blue Citroen Berlingo. They are appealing for witnesses to contact the police control room on 101 or Crimestoppers anonymously on 0800 555111.

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Claudia Lawrence
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Claudia Lawrence disappearance: Timeline of developments

A 59-year-old man has been arrested on suspicion of murdering missing chef Claudia Lawrence.

Miss Lawrence was 35 when she disappeared from her home in York in 2009.

Danny Savage reports on the latest development in the police inquiry.

  • 13 May
  • From the section UK
Go to next video: Father 'encouraged' by Claudia progress


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Joss Stone murder plot: Accused pair 'had sword'

Joss Stone
Image caption The men were arrested after being seen near Joss Stone's Devon home

Two men accused of plotting to murder singer Joss Stone were carrying a sword, a lock knife, a hammer and notes of their intentions, a court has heard.

Junior Bradshaw, 32, and Kevin Liverpool, 35, both of St Stephens Close, Manchester, were arrested in June 2011 in Cullompton, Devon, close to her house.

The singer was at home on the day, Exeter Crown Court heard.

The pair deny conspiracy to murder, rob and cause grievous bodily harm.

The two men set off from Manchester and were arrested after being seen driving around the area, a few miles from her home.

They had become lost, the court heard, and they had asked a local postman for directions to the 25-year-old singer's home.

'Decapitation plan'

Prosecutors said "eagle-eyed" residents spotted them driving and acting suspiciously.

The police were called and the men were subsequently stopped and arrested.

When their vehicle was searched, officers found a sword, a section of hosepipe, a hammer and a holdall containing a spike, black bags and tape.

Notes found in the defendants' possession showed they intended to decapitate the pop star before dumping her body in a river, the jury of 10 men and two women was told.

Simon Morgan, prosecuting, said the motive was "irrelevant", but the notes indicated the singer had been targeted because of her social connections with members of the Royal Family.

The Devon-based Brit award-winning singer is best known for hits including Super Duper Love and Fell In Love With A Boy, plus her albums The Soul Sessions.

She recently took part in a re-recording of The Beatles' first album, Please Please Me, performing the track A Taste of Honey to mark the album's 50th anniversary.

The trial, which is expected to last up to three weeks, continues.

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Prince Harry with Miss Bahamas 2011 Anastagia Pierre and Sasha Joyce (left), Miss World contestant, at reception in Nassau, The Bahamas. (John Stillwell/AP Images)

Prince Harry got a “rock star” reception in the Bahamas, wrote Sky News.

As usual, he’s attracted the attention of the ladies. Today, he met not one but two beauty pageant queens, one of whom, Miss Bahamas, made headlines yesterday when she announced, “I came here to fall in love with Prince Harry. He’s hot. He is single now, so would I marry him? Yes.”

However, when Miss Universe contestant Anastagia Pierre actually met Harry, reports the Mirror, “the 23-year-old turned all coy on the eligible royal bachelor as they chatted.”

When the two were introduced, Harry said, “You’re the one,” referring to all the media attention about her prior comments.

Pierre said she told Harry what she’d meant.

“I said it was supposed to be light hearted, and it had been blown out of all proportion,” the model explained, “and he said, ‘It always is.'”

Harry is on a seven-day trip to the Caribbean as a royal representative of Queen Elizabeth on the occasion of her Diamond Jubilee.

A few days earlier, Harry was in Belize, sipping rum, partying in the streets and climbing to the top of a Mayan pyramid, reported the Belizean.

Harry told a crowd there that “his heart leapt” when he found out that he had been chosen to visit the Central American country by his grandmother.

“I’m only sorry she can’t make it and you’re stuck with me,” he said.

Still, officially representing the Queen is “a significant moment for Prince Harry and the enduring institution he represents,” says BBC News royal correspondent Peter Hunt. “With Prince Edward and his wife already in the West Indies and Harry visiting the Caribbean, it’s a reminder the Queen still reigns in 16 countries.” (Prince Edward and the Countess of Essex are nearing the end of their trip – the first of the Jubilee visits by royal family members – during which they are visiting Grenada, Barbados and Antigua, among other islands.)

video platform video management video solutions video player

On the next stop in his Caribbean tour, Harry may have to deal with matters of more substance than beauty queens and rum-drinking. In Jamaica, he’s likely to get a warm reception, says BBC News, but “he will also find himself in the middle of a debate over whether Jamaica should replace the Queen as head of state and become a republic.”

Jamaica formally declared independence from Britain in 1962, after more than three centuries of British rule. But there are many in Jamaica who want to remove the last vestiges of their colonial past, including the country’s newly-elected Prime Minister Portia Simpson-Miller, with whom Harry will meet.

“We need to complete the circle of independence,” Simpson-Miller said at her inauguration. “We will initiate the process of our detachment from the monarchy to become a republic with our own indigenous head of state.”

“We respect Britain,” Jamaica’s Justice Minister Mark Golding told the BBC. “The British people shouldn’t take this as any kind of slight. It’s not about that. It’s about a country coming of age and wanting to repatriate its sovereignty – and that’s the path we’re all on.”

While talks within the government are already underway, it’s unclear exactly what the eventual path will be. After legislative approval, a break with the monarchy would require a three-fifths majority in a popular referendum.

And, as republicans have discovered in Australia, the monarchy can maintain a strong hold on popular opinion. In a recent poll, 60 percent of Jamaicans said the country would have been better off today had it remained a British colony.

Read More
By Paul Hechinger


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Maryam D’Abo (BBC)

Bond girls may come and go but, once a Bond girl, they can claim the title forever. One Bond girl who knows plenty about cozying up to Agent 007 is British actress Maryam D’Abo, who starred opposite Timothy Dalton’s Bond in 1987’s The Living Daylights.

She called on that experience when she worked both behind and in front of the camera on Bond Girls Are Forever, a 2002 documentary about the dozens of talented lovelies who have appeared in Bond films since the spy series launched with Dr. No in 1962. (Ursula Andress was the Bond girl in that one).

The London-born D’Abo, 51, is now back in the news because of a new documentary that she has produced and in which she appears. Called Rupture: Living with a Broken Brain, it tells how D’Abo nearly died in 2007 after suffering a brain hemorrhage due to a burst aneurysm and tracks her road to recovery following life-saving emergency surgery.

The film debuts today (Thursday, July 12) when it airs on BBC Four in England.

“Many people say that recovery from an aneurysm is like having a layer of skin ripped off – your experience of life is more intense. I appreciate the physicality of things now, the lushness of greenery, the sight of a robin,” D’Abo said in an interview this week in The Independent.

Her documentary also features interviews with others who’ve suffered from brain injuries, including music composer and producer Quincy Jones Jr., as well as medical experts.

Making the movie was a family affair: Rupture is directed by D’Abo’s husband, Hugh Hudson, who is best known for directing Chariots of Fire.

“It’s very emotional,” Hudson said of the documentary in an interview last month with The Arts Desk web site. “It captures an emotional tone in what these people are going through and what it says about us as humans.”

As for her Bond girl documentary – really, isn’t it time we referred to the Bond ladies as women? – D’Abo is busily updating it to mark the 50th anniversary this fall of the 007 film series.

The latest Bond film, Skyfall, opens Oct. 26 in the UK and on Nov. 9 in the U.S. In it, Daniel Craig’s super spy will contend with Bond gals played by British actress Naomie Harris and French star Bérénice Marlohe.

Are you a Maryam D’Abo fan?

Read More
By Leah Rozen


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Cycling should be safe, convenient and enjoyable for all my family and friends
I agree

L.A. Advocates Call for $12 Billion Investment in Cycling & Walking

Advocates are calling for 10% of the 40 year $120 billion sales tax proposal on L.A. County's November ballot to be spent on cycling and walking Currently, only $5.4 billion is being proposed for cycling and walking.

Research from other counties and Metro's own "Strategic Plan" for active transportation estimates a funding need of $740 million to $1.7 billion per year for biking and walking projects, Butler said.

Walking and biking combined make up almost a fifth of all trips taken in the county and disproportionately account for nearly 40 percent of traffic fatalities.

Metro's ballot measure proposal would fund completion of the L.A. River bike path between downtown L.A. and the west San Fernando Valley and the City of San Fernando bike path along the Pacoima Wash.

More here.

$12 billion US is $15 billion Canadian. The population of L.A. County is 10 million or around 2.5 times greater than BC's making $6 billion the equivalent amount per person. Over 10 years, that would be $1.25 billion. Currently only 1% of people in L.A. cycle work, less than half the 2.1% in BC.

So, lets make the same kind of bold investment in cycling. Please sign the Billion for Cycling and Walking petition to help everyone in BC cycle for their daily trips. And please help us reach more cycling supporters by donating to our campaign!

Help show lots of people support cycling and walking for everyone.

Please share. Encourage your friends and family to sign the petition!

A Billion for Bikes - Cycling for Everyone Petition

I call upon the Government of BC to enable everyone in BC to cycle & walk in safety as part of their daily lives by implementing an Active Transportation Strategy that includes:

  • Investing $1 billion over the next ten years to:
    • Upgrade cycling & walking facilities on provincial roads & bridges
    • Complete cycling & walking networks in communities across BC
    • Provide safe routes to school for children
    • Build trails & routes for cycling & walking tourism
  • Ensuring that paths & protected bike lanes can be safely shared by people using wheelchairs, skateboards & in-line skates
  • Enhancing cycling education for children & adults
  • Promoting cycling & walking
  • Encouraging electric bike use by eliminating the PST & providing rebates
531 needed to reach 5,000

Will you sign?

or Text SIGN to +16046704421 to sign

Support Our Cycling & Walking for Everyone Campaign

Your generous contribution will help us mobilize the support needed to convince the Provincial and Federal Governments to make bold investments in cycling & walking through:

  • Outreach to organizations and businesses
  • Petitioning to show the government that a lot of people support better cycling
  • Meeting with politicians and staff
  • Press releases and op-eds

Please support our efforts by making an on-going contribution of $5, $10, $15 or $20 per month or a one-time donation.

Sign the Petition

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Stay connected to us wherever you are! With bcralerts, get breaking news updates along with other area information sent to you as a text message to your wireless device or by e-mail.

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Keep up with what's going on in your community by reading the bcrbriefs. This easy to read synopsis of today's news will be emailed directly to you Tuesday through Saturday at no charge. Sign up today!
Barb Kromphardt

A little less intelligent world

It was probably August 1997 when I first listened to public radio.

I had taken a job transporting area kids to various schools, and I was looking for something a little more interesting than music to listen to when I was in the van by myself.

So I was heading north of Spring Valley and surfing the radio dial when I stumbled across a familiar voice.

It was Ray Suarez, who used to be on one of the Chicago television stations when we lived in the suburbs.

A few minutes and I was hooked. Suarez was host of a program called "Talk of the Nation," and it was great.

I'd never had any tolerance for talk radio, but this was different. "Intelligent talk," the program was billed, and that's what it was.

Smart people discussing current topics intelligently and politely, and callers who were on their best behavior.

So for 16 years I've been listening to public radio, pretty much whenever I'm in the car.

There are certain misconceptions out there about public radio that I've done my best to straighten out.

Public radio is not a bastion of liberal thought, no matter what some people might like you to believe. The programs try hard to present intelligent opinions on all sides of an issue and leave it to the listeners to form their own opinions.

On a more humorous note, public radio is also not like how it's been portrayed (hilariously, I must say) on Saturday Night Live. It generally isn't dull, dry or boring, although I must admit it has its moments once in awhile.

My brother-in-law used to tease me about public radio until he began spending long periods of time in his car, and he was seduced by its charms. Mark used to like to tell me about what programs he had listened to, so I had to text him recently when I was listening to a program on Norwegian funeral ballads!

I listen to other programs but "Talk of the Nation," from 1 to 3 p.m. is my favorite. After Suarez came, host Juan Williams followed about 10 years ago by Neal Conan.

So anyway, on Thursday of last week I was in the car once again, and "Talk of the Nation" was on. Much to my surprise, people kept telling Conan how much they were going to miss him and his program.

So I looked it up and apparently it was announced back in March that "Talk of the Nation" would be over at the end of July, replaced by another program.

I can't quite put into words how I feel about this. Shocked, stunned, saddened ... come to mind.

Such a loss.

For 16 years, "Talk of the Nation" has taught me, expanded my mind, made me think and helped me explain my opinions. Sometimes it made me laugh; once in awhile it made me cry, but it always made me think.

It spoiled me for other news programs that settle for giving me one side of the story in 30 seconds or less.

As a reporter, I like to think that once in awhile I've had an impact on people's lives. That I've been able to explain something, or clarify an issue, or maybe even persuade someone to take action on something they're passionate about.

So this is for "Talk of the Nation," and especially you, Mr. Conan.

So often the media and journalists are criticized – and sometimes rightly so – for taking the low road; for looking for the bad and the flashy; for settling for a cheap laugh rather than a memorable learning experience.

You have made me proud of what I do, and I thank you.

BCR Staff Writer/Tonica News and Putnam County Record Managing Editor Barb Kromphardt can be reached at bkromphardt@bcrnews.com.

A little less intelligent world shaw-push-component-1


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Stones tribute band to open concert season at Cultural Park

October 10, 2012

zStonesz, a Rolling Stones tribute band, will open the concert series at Cultural Park Theatre on Wednesday, Oct. 17. Show time is 8 p.m....

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Home  >  Canon EOS Lenses >  Item # E1SG150600CEOS (MFR# E1SG150600CEOS)

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150-600mm F5-6.3 DG OS HSM Zoom Lens (Contemporary) for Canon Mount Bundle
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Sigma 150-600mm F5-6.3 DG OS HSM Zoom Lens (Contemporary) for Canon Mount Bundle

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Includes: 150-600mm F5-6.3 DG OS HSM Zoom Lens (Contemporary) for Canon Mount, 64GB SDXC High Speed Memory Card, Carry Case, 57-Inch Full Size Tripod, 95mm UV Filter, Memory Card Wallet, SD USB 2.0 Card Reader, Lens Cap Keeper, and Micro Fiber Cloth
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The Sigma 150-600mm 5-6.3 DG HSM OS Contemporary was created around the concept of maximum portability meets utmost image quality in a variable aperture hyper-telephoto zoom lens. Light weight and compact, this s zoom can handle any long-reach photographic situation one may encounter. This 150-600mm Contemporary boasts updated Sigma technology such as a quiet and optimized Hyper Sonic Motor (HSM) and a new Optical Stabilizer (OS) with an accelerometer for improved panning photography both vertically and horizontally, essential for birding, wildlife and motor photography. The Sigma 150-600 Contemporary also touts a new zoom lock switch that can be locked at any focal length and a new manual override (MO) switch is incorporated for improved focusing control. Working with the Sigma USB dock, this lens allows for maximum customization such as firmware updates and adjustments to the focus limiter, AF speed and OS view.

  • First hyper-telephoto zoom from the Contemporary line
  • Lightweight and compact in construction for higher useability
  • Water and oil repellent coating on front glass element makes maintenance of the lens surface easier
  • Dust proof and splash proof mount
  • Filter Size: 95mm

DG - DG for Digital

Designed to deliver the ultimate in performance on full-frame digital SLRs, Sigma DG lenses also bring out the best in 35mm SLR film cameras and APS-C size DLSRs.

OS - Optical Stabilizer

This function utilizes a built-in mechanism that compensates for camera shake. It dramatically expands photographic possibilities by alleviating camera movement when shooting by hand held camera.

HSM - Quiet & Fast Autofocusing

This lens uses a motor driven by ultrasonic waves to provide a quiet, high-speed AF.

USB Dock Compatibility

Sigma has developed special software (SIGMA Optimization Pro) that can update the lens firmware and adjust parameters such as focus.

 *USB Dock is sold separately.

  • OS Telephoto

  • Contemporary

Typical Photography:

  • Travel
  • Nature & Wildlife
  • Sports & Action

  • Lens Construction: 20 Elements in 14 Groups
  • Angle of View: 16.4 degrees - 4.1 degrees
  • Number of Diaphragm Blades: 9
  • Mininum Aperture: f22
  • Minimum Focusing Distance: 280cm/ 110.2 in
  • Filter Size (mm): 95mm
  • Maximum Magnifications: 1:5
  • Dimensions (Diameter x Length): 105 x 260.1mm / 4.1 x 10.2in
  • Weight: TBD
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Best fashion forward onitsuka tiger ultimate 81 black yellow zippy offers comfort and style in - Beau Photo .Here are your best choices, We gurantee you a good buying with the lowest price.

05/24/2017 00:38 am ET
Tim Wimborne / Reuters

He may be even more hard hitting, rather he certainly is that, but at least he has wit, his erudite language flows, one can often learn something like a quote from a thinker of the time of Rome. Total Internet Users The total number of people who have accessed the internet during a particular period. pink lipstick so hot and she is brilliant Review by michael Written on Thursday 27th October 2011, 5:57am Visited at the middle of October 2011 for 1 Hour she is a brilliant.

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Anna (ID: 78720)

Ukraine bride  Anna 32 y.o. from Vasilkov, ID 78720
Slideshow > Off Slow Medium Fast
  • Age:32

  • Date of birth:June 02, 1984

  • Height:5' 3" (162 cm)

  • Weight:116 lb (53 kg)

  • Hair color:black

  • Eyes color:aqua

  • Country:Ukraine

  • City:Vasilkov

  • Religion:Russian Orthodox

  • Marital status:divorced

  • Children:1boy-2012

  • Smoke:no

  • Alcohol:Socialy

  • Profession:Hairdresser - make up artist

  • Education:College

  • English language:Using dictionary

  • Others foreign languages:No

  • Seeks partner:30 - 50 years old

  • Total photos:7

  • Bikini photos:0

Interview Profile

Hobbies and interests:

I am very active person and I like many kinds of activities. I love traveling and visiting many different museums and expositions. I would like to make friends all over the world and knowing more about different traditions and other exciting things which many tourists do not know. I am fond of fitness and dancing.

About me:

As for me I am a very sincere, punctual lady with a good sense of humor. I believe that honesty is the most important in relationships. You cannot build them without it. That is why I am a very honest person. I know what is life and life made me strong, I am a self-confident but sometimes its quite difficult for a lonely lady.

Looking For Men Type:

I am looking for a man who has 5 characretistics below: 1. Honesty 2. Responsibility 3. Sense of humor 4. Strong character 5. Artistic If its you, tell me what you are looking for in your lady:)

Random girls

  • 88213 Margarita Lvov (Ukraine)
  • 86664 OLGA Zaporozhye (Ukraine)
  • 86242 Yuliya Ternovka (Ukraine)
  • 86745 Veronika Sumy (Ukraine)


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Beauty Boutique offers up-to-the minute status reports on your online orders. To check the status of your order, please enter your order number and last name (for security purposes) below.

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Style # 216185

{"widgetClass":"VariantMatrixWidget","backorderMessage":"Backordered","backorderMessageSingleVariant":"This item is backordered.","orderedSelection":true,"productVariantId":0,"variantIdField":"product51477_VariantId","backorderToMessageSingleVariant":"This item is backordered and is expected by {0}.","lowPrice":9999.0,"attributeIndexes":[],"productId":51477,"priceVariance":true,"backorderToMessage":"Backordered to {0}","updateLastSelector":true,"highPrice":-9999.0,"fireStatusEvents":true}
What a trip! Amazing horizontally striped mid skirt that features a side accent of vertical stripes, contours to your body, with no closures. Style with pumps and a red pout.
  • 90% Nylon, 10% spandex
  • Made in USA
  • Center back to hem: 27" (69 cm)
  • Model is 5'10" and wears a US size S
Mixed Stripe Midi Skirt is rated 4.8 out of 5 by 5.
Rated 5 out of 5 by from sexy form fitting The fitting of the skirt is wonderful usually I wear small but in this skirt i bought XS is a perfect fit it insinuates all your curves.
Date published: 2014-07-05
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Sexy as can be! I bought this skirt in an XS, because I wanted to wear it only for going out (I feel the print is too loud for the office anyways). I am 5'8 and 140lbs, usually a SMALL but the XS fit perfectly around all my curves, really held me in too. Its a little hard to walk because their are no slits, but Iike it better like that its soo fitted. MUST HAVE!
Date published: 2014-06-23
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Great fit and good quality material Love the skirt it fits well and shows your curves.
Date published: 2013-06-01
Rated 4 out of 5 by from More flattering than I thought! I am 5'-7", 135 lbs, and usually wear a size 4. I loved the look of this skirt, but was worried that it would not be flattering. I was pleasantly suprised. I ordered both a Large and a Medium, and the Medium actually worked much better. It was more flattering to my figure worn right at the waist, not high-waisted as shown in the photograph. Be cautious if you have a little extra around the middle - this skirt will highlight it instead of hide it. I have a fairly flat tummy, but threw on a pair of Spanx underneath so that my rear end would not show any jiggle through the fabric when I walk. I paired it with a very simple 3/4-sleeve scoop neck top, and super sexy black ankle-strap platforms.
Date published: 2013-05-28
Rated 5 out of 5 by from very sexy! im 55" and 132lb got the xs,fit perfect, i love it very sexy and elegant.must have for the summer.
Date published: 2013-05-18
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