The spar of the world-ice beneath the hill of the monastery is shot through with impurities, with planes of waving light, clouds of suspended opalescence, and tumors of fractures like angry lace. These impurities form a three-dimensional cartography within the ice. There is an entire world ...
“There is a village in the Merros Valley,” he said. “There, the eastmage searches the clouds to tell the farmers what day dawns fair for a wedding, or when to hurry the harvest. She finds lost sheep and spindles. Her life contents her.” ...
They always say in Alaska “If you don’t like the weather, wait 15 minutes” because something is always changing. Clouds come in and the sun disappears and it starts to snow and the temperature goes from 30 below to 30 above in 24 hours. It’s a whirlwind sometimes and so, one has...
Its great steel arms link shore with shore,Its towers pierce the sky.On its broad decks in rightful pride,The world in swift parade shall ride,Throughout all time to be;Beneath, fleet ships from every port,Vast landlocked bay, historic fort,And dwarfing all the sea.To north, the Redwood...
Beyond the tall windows, clouds are roiling. Everything seems to distract her. Giro—where might he be? Is he safe? Is he thinking of her? It’s not the time for such thoughts. It may never be again. Cecilia parries intoguardia secundaand glides in. Her flat strikes Matisto’s arm...
around us, sheltering our eyes from the sky. Mud towers loomed at every intersection like giant, half-melted candles. The thrum of waterwheels reverberated through the ground. Far downriver, well past the Fence, the towers of the Queen’s castle poked like accusing fingers into the clouds....
Street lights no longer functioned and clouds suffocated the stars, but no matter the darkness, Dreya knew her Town and where to place each footstep. The broken icon, at the main road into Town, lay in a crumbled heap, as though a child had flung a clay doll into a wall. The metal...
Even inside, James’s breath puffs out in little clouds. Glimpse of metal-gray sky through tiny windows high up one wall. Rebecca Greensmith, dimly lit, on the featherbed her husband brought: head back, drooling, lids half open over eyes blank as boiled eggs. —Goody Greensmith, James ...
Oh my soul, drift upward like the clouds Be tranquil oh my soul... The path widened under Jeone’s hands and feet and ended in a level ledge, and she looked down in the last light of the sun over a scene of pastoral calm. Carved terraces spread out below her, thickly planted with...
Clouds split apart overhead. The fields and monastery are illuminated now by a sliver of moon, Odin’s remaining eye cracked open to watch the coming bloodshed. “Beautiful,” Bragi says. Symond makes the sign of his own hanged god, and they go together to the wall. ...