Sep. 13th, 2009

orbitaldiamonds: painting of dragon and books ([ a ] dragon and books)
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Dragonriders of Pern: The White Dragon
by Anne McCaffrey

p.40 "Do you realize," he asked, twirling the glass in his hand, "that there wasn't a drop of wine on board?"
     "Oh, no!" Lessa cried in a comic dismay. F'lar's laughter joined hers. "What a deprivation!"

p.68 "Got another explanation?" Menolly asked belligerently.
     "No, but that doesn't mean there isn't one," and Jaxom grinned at her.

p.78-79 Everyone was right willing to discuss his Lady Mother Gemma with him, but did they ever fumble and fight to find another subject if mentioned his unlamented father. Were they afraid to have him get ideas from his father's aggressive ways? Or was it merely courtesy not to talk about the dead unkindly? They certainly had no bar about discussing the living in destructive terms.

p.175 The subject of fire-lizard memory was discussed again; F'lar unwilling to concede that, unlike the dragons they otherwise resembled, the little creatures were capable of recall. Their tales might all be imaginary, the results of sun-dreams and insubstantial. To that Robinton replied that imagination relied on memory--without one, the other was impossible.

p.193 If anyone had told Jaxom that morning that he'd enjoy a comfortable dinner with the Benden Weyrleaders, he'd have told them to open their glow baskets.

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orbitaldiamonds: painting of dragon and books ([ a ] dragon and books)
[personal profile] orbitaldiamonds

Dragonriders of Pern: Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
by Anne McCaffrey

p.45 To Moreta, of all the Gathers she'd ever attended, the Ruathan Gather at that moment of dusk evoked best what Gathers should be--folk from every weyr, hold, and craft assembled to eat, drink, dance, and enjoy one another's company. The glowbaskets on their standards cast pitches of golden light on the crowded tables, on the dancers, on the clusters of people standing about talking, and on the circles of men near the wine barrels. The darting figures of children wove in and out of the light patches, and occasionally their laughter and shouts cut across the music and the stamping of the dancers. The smell of roasted meats and warm evening air, of dust and and pungent glows and wine reinforced all prospect of entertainment.

p.71 "It's a bit late to cry Thread when the burrows set, isn't it?"

p.72 Nothing will change yesterday, Orlith remarked philosophically. So now you must deal with today.

p.106 Lord Leef had once confided that the way to avoid arguments was to keep them from starting. Tactful withdrawal, he had called it.

p.130 Old L'mal had told Moreta that the efficiency of the dragon was only hampered by his rider's ability to brag. However a rider flew, so long as no Thread reached the ground, the flight was well done!

p.150-151 The confrontation had shaken Moreta. She was drained of all energy, even Orlith's, and it had become an effort to keep upright. She gripped the edge of her chair, trembling. It wasn't just Sh'gall's rage but the unpalatable, unavoidable knowledge that she was likely the next victim of the plague in the Weyr. Her head was beginning to ache and it was not the kind that succeeded tension or the stress and concentration of repairing dragon injuries.
     You are not well, Orlith said, confirming her self-diagnosis.
     I have probably not been well since I went to that runner's rescue, Moreta replied. L'mal always said that runners would be my downfall.
     You have not fallen down. You have fallen ill, Orlith corrected her, dryly humorous in turn. Come now to the weyr and rest.

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