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Dragon and Phoenix
by Joanne Bertin

p.18-19 He wore it [ his hair ] in the Yerrin fashion, as Linden did his: shoulder length save for a long, narrow clan braid hanging from the nape of his neck and down his back. But where Linden's braid bore the four-strand pattern of a noble and was bound with the blue, white, and green of the Snow Cat clan, this man sported Marten clan's black and green tying off the three-strand braid of a commoner.

p.25 Saethe - Dragonlord Council

p.37 "a business of ferrets"?

p.43 Smirking at Linden, Raven began an answer, but jumped in his seat and shut his mouth again. He darted an angry glance first at his great-uncle to his left and then across the table at Maurynna. Linden generously hid a satisfied grin behind his mug of tea.

p.50 Gods--not even your worst enemy will cut off your clan braid. Your head, perhaps, Otter thought, but not your braid.

p.87 " [...] Give her a few days, though, and she should be right as rain." The Simpler paused in the doorway, frowning thoughtfully. "Though why rain should be right or wrong, I've no idea."

p.135 "What do priests from other temples preach?" Otter asked.
"There are no other temples."
The others looked at each other in astonishment.
Otter persisted. "You mean there's only one way to worship? No choice of gods to believe in?"

p.156-157 "Well and well--let's hope that witch spruce they planted over his grave still keeps his soul pinned down. Thing should be huge by now if those trees really do feed on evil as the stories say."

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

The Last Dragonlord
by Joanne Bertin

p.50-51 Linden rocked from foot to foot. Oh, bloody damn indeed. First they had to stand about in this stuffy little room while some pompous ass brayed, then the herald would announce them, giving their human and dragon names, one by one. Then he would present the council--one by one.
     What idiocy. They'd met the same nobles last night. But now it had to be done with the proper ceremony and formality.
     Bother the ceremony. He wanted to get started.
     He pushed back his sleeves. Wretched things, always in the way. He wished they didn't have to wear the regalia for these meetings. He'd had enough of it at the welcoming festivities. He'd spent the entire evening waiting for the wide sleeves to fall into the gravy. They usually did; sometimes he thought they had a mind of their own.
     And these blasted tight breeches pinched.

p.60 "hadn't enough brains to bait a fishook with"

p.67 He pulled the only other chair from its place against the wall and set it backwards before her desk. He straddled it, arms crossed along the top, his long legs stuck out to either side.

p.75 Had the kitchen cat settled itself upon the council's table and lectured them on the differences between the nine hells of Yerrin belief and the three that Cassorin priests held to, the council members could not have looked more surprised.

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Heather's Library

March 2010

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