The Borders of Living

I want to thank you all for your prayers regarding my father.  We take it one day at a time - some good, some bad - and it is too early to tell what the progress will be.  I think he will be able to pull through, and now my biggest concern is that he not get pneumonia on top of all this.  Your prayers for fellow saints, as always, do not go unappreciated.
snippets
It was Mermorine, the youngest of Morterick’s daughters, who met them as they walked in. She was elbow-deep in a massive vase of white and blue faience-work, a bundle of yellow iris and foamy chervil rustling to her movements as she ordered them in the jar. She looked round instinctively and caught Raymond’s eye: the colour mounted instantaneously in her cheek.
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God bless the waters of Lethe...
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Avery slipped past her and flung back over his shoulder, “Raymond, have you got a pack? I’ll play you in some rough and honours.”
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He thumbed the gold thread—and beneath his breastbone an answering colour glowed, hot-gold, small and spark-like and steady.
The St. Jermaine spirit.
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[She] looked down at him from the back of her pitch-brown hunter, her feuillemort hair tossed up and pinned in a raging crown about her head. Her pale pink mouth, carved on severe and artful lines, smiled cruelly.
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French and Latin better,” his lordship protested lazily; “and a little Carmarthen—but I am not bad with Greek.”
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We owe each other no favours,” she said, reaching up with her spare hand to brush a few loose tendrils from her eyes. “I am glad of that.”
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"I know that when I find I can pray no more than the merest cries for help, I am glad of the saints who have wrestled with God on the borders of living and have won their way into the land of blessing."
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He almost did not see the rider for the ridden. Amid the mud-speckled, heavily-haunched beasts that strode rank on rank through the gateway stepped a blistering goddess of a mare, so obviously Carmarthen-bred that it was almost an insult to the eyes. It wore travel tack, but its buckles and metal-pieces splintered with shards of rayed silver in the light, and the torches seemed to lose their illumination as the mare eclipsed them, her coat shiny-glowing and pale gold as the colour of lightning. All her lines were long and fine, her ears delicately curled inward toward each other, her reflective blue eyes overcast by a fringe of white lashes. She was a bizarre, gorgeous creature, with the most beautiful step and shift of muscles, and judging from the lightness of the rider’s hands upon the reins, she had a superb mouth.
Himself no horseman, Alwin nevertheless gestured to the cream champagne and murmured, “Damn!
His orderly nodded appreciatively.
drakeshelm

"The consul? I don't know. I don't think so. And you could not pay me," the orderly added, "to be the man who breaks her in."
"That is good to know," said the honey of the golden demon in the doorway. "Your pay is in arrears as it is."
drakeshelm

"I only use strong language when I have the moral high ground."
drakeshelm

1 ripostes

  1. I think reading Plenilune has helped immensely in appreciating these snippets, despite their having little to do with it (from what I can understand as of yet). It is, I suppose, an atmospherical thing, but whatever it is, I feel like I get them better. And I love them. I really love them. <3

    As usual, the last one's my favorite. XD At least I'm consistent? I also really loved the third from last, though...horses have always fascinated me, so I can in some way understand this Alwin. ;)

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