‘Liminal beings,’ he said, which meant nothing to me. ‘We are quite close to the Edge of the World here, the fraying edge where things cease to have proper form. Those are the sort of creatures you find at the Edge of the World. Formless, yet craving form with a terrible hunger. They have no name.’
‘I called them glimmerlings,’ I said.
The Dolorous Lord regarded me for a moment, then said, solemnly, ‘And so they have a name,’ as if this were a sad day for us all.
— The Fantasy Reader, p. 91