Dumpling

In the midst of war, hell, and so much death, there is adorableness.


So I’ve just started reading Range of Ghosts by Elizabeth Bear, and it opens on a pretty brutal scene: a character wakes up with his neck half-slashed open, he’s all over blood (both his and other people’s), and he’s staggering around this battlefield half-lost in post-battle trauma and confusion while trying to gather supplies so he can, you know, actually survive if he doesn’t bleed out from the neck first.

And then this horse finds him, and you know what he calls it? Dumpling. This man, half-dead and desperate, calls a horse Dumpling.


I swear, the sound I made when I read that was unholy. Good thing there was no one around me right at that moment, or I would have made a terrible spectacle of myself.