Until I held him, I did not realize he was just the right height to put his arms comfortably around my shoulders, for me to rest my brow in the hollow of his neck, where the blood pulsed under the skin-a perfect fit.” Until I held him, I did not realize how much I had longed for it. We stood there awhile, and the feeling was good, so good, like a homecoming after long troubles. See how easy it was? Bran went very still and then his arms came around me, quite cautiously, as if he had never done this before and was not at all sure how one went about it. I shut my eyes and moved toward him, and my arms went aroun his waist, and I rested my head against his chest and let my tears flow.
I just knew, overwhelmingly, that if I did not touch him I would shatter in pieces. Maybe it was the memory of how he had looked as he slept. I knew what it cost him to let himself speak thus. Maybe it was the hesitation in his voice. “I cannot say what it was that made me take that one step forward. ― Juliet Marillier, quote from Son of the Shadows His head was completely shaven, and the skull, too, was colored the same, half-man, half-wild creature some great artist of the inks and needle had wrought this over many days, and I imagined the pain must have been considerable.” The pattern extended down his neck and under the border of his leather jerkin and the linen shirt he wore beneath it. If I had not been so frightened, I might have laughed at the irony of it.
An eagle? A goshawk? No, it was, I thought, a raven, even as far as the circles about the eye and the suggestion of predatory beak around the nostril. On all the right side, extending from an undrawn mark down the exact center, an etching of line and curve and feathery pattern, like the mask of some fierce bird of prey. On the left side, the face of a youngish man, the skin weathered but fair, the eye gray and clear, the mouth well formed if unyielding in character.
For it was light and dark, night and day, this world and the Otherworld. “This was a face such as I had never seen before, even in the most fanciful of dreams, a face that was, in its way, a work of art.
0 kommentar(er)
