#0005: The Winter of the World, by Poul Anderson

[orbitaldiamonds]

The Winter of the World
by Poul Anderson

p.8 "Folk lose, folk win; in the end, we give back to the land what it lent us."
--Donya

p.33 "midnight hair streaked with meteors"

p.34 "Anybody else is welcome to claim yesteryear as for his, if tomorrow be mine."

p.36 "Lightning seared, thundre bawled, rain blurred the glass and chill crept from it."

p.31 "Torture takes too long anyway, and the results are too runreliable."
--Sidir

p.49 Lily Sisters

p.53 "Eyach!" -- epithet, like "damn" or "shimatta"

p.53-54 "What I really am is a shully."
"A what?" Casiru inquired.
"Common word around the Mother Ocean," Jossereck said. "We have people, mostly men, who go rootless, wander around from island to island, living by whatever comes to hand and never staying put for long. Some are--worthless, or dangerous, beggars, swindlers, thieves, bandits, murderers, whenever they think it's safe."

p.54 "An honest migratory worker." He felt tension ease, and smiled into her eyes. "Not necessarily law-abiding. There are too many silly little laws, in the countless silly little nations around Oceania, for us to keep track of. But we have our code. Also, we take pride in being skillful workmen. Not that we're formally organized or anything. We have a king, ceremonies, yearly meetings, but nobody keeps a register of membership, or initiates new chums, none of that nonsense. Word gets around. Everybody soon knows who is and is not a proper shully."

p.62 "Hoy?" -- What? (with surprise)

p.80 "cuirass"?
"ogive"?

p.82 "The metal is hot, but not yet in the mold."

p.94 Campfires and sentinel lanterns spread widely. But they were sparks, lost amidst night and miles, as were fugitive sounds from the host, a man's call, a horse's whinny, a flute's loneliness. Breath smoked on the chill.

p.100 "Rachan" -- expletive; "bitch"

p.111 Rogaviki = Children of the Sky

p.115 The day was bright and windy. Clouds scudded white-sailed, a hawk surfed on the blast, when he came to open fields he saw how crows on the ground flattened their wings and wavelets wandered in batallions or rainpuddles. Hedgegrows rustled; trees, hazel, apple, sugar maple, beech, soughed around the buildings. Four young women were out weeding; places like this planted several acres in grain and garden truck, for use and trade.

p.126 "I appreciate rudeness, Guildsman. Lies and flattery are worse than useless."
--Inil

( more under the cut )

#0006: Midnight Flight, by V.C. Andrews

[orbitaldiamonds]

Midnight Flight
by V. C. Andrews

p.8 She was as tall as I was, about five feet ten or so, and she was wearing a dark blue uniform jacket with brass buttons and a pair of blue slacks. I thought she wasn't much more than nineteen or twenty years old. She was wide in the hips and small on top with narrow shoulders, making it look like two different bodies had been slapped together when God was busy attending to other matters.

p.25 Her voice echoed off the cement walls and then died as if her words were smashed to bits, the letters splattered and then raining down to the dank concrete floor.

p.209 I couldn't imagine anything more lonely thanto die among strangers, to have no one who was more than just professionally interested in what was happening to you. You would know that when it was over, they would shake their heads and most likely within the same hour, maybe the same minute, return to their normal, daily lives. Some who witnessed your passing might not even remember to mention it to anyone afterward. You were, after all, just a statistic.