"Prince of Nothing" Actually the Prince of Something

My diminutive intellect still reeling in time with the rhythm of the pages of Warrior Prophet turning, I am awed. I am, however, gaining enough self-confidence and a strong enough feeling of security that I think I may be able to start reading WP in the world outside my closet. Though the sight of my neighbor unloading her dry cleaning laden with unusual scarlet robes is making me reconsider. And my references to the Logos being met with directions to the nearest display of interlocking, stackable blocks is more than a little disheartening.

So in a cowardly moment of self-preservation, smoothing my skirts a la Nynaeve al Meara, tucking into my dress a locket bearing a well-worn and signed photo of Tyrion Lannister (who is, btw, more than a Halfman--wow!), I realize my world is not ready for my Three Seas coming out party. In the end, I tuck WP into the latest mail-order hentai catalog that has made its way to my den of iniquity, and set off for the local catholic school.

What I meant to say through the tiny human head atop these bothersome wings (effing feathers sticking in the keys again!!) is: thanks for allowing me among your ranks. I shall do my best to represent your company with all the honor of the mighty Thunyeri wearing those shrunken, shriveled heads they sport between their...oh...those aren't Sranc heads...those are your...???...oh, i do apologize.

Ah, well. As my mentor was fond of saying before she fell under the thrall of a certain Dunyain who shall go unnamed *ahem*, "You win some, you lose Sumna."