“It could have imitated a million life-forms on a million planets. Could change into any one of them at any time. Now it wants life-forms on Earth. It needs to be alone and in close proximity with a life-form to be absorbed. The chameleon strikes in the dark.”
‘Lady Yennefer! No! I do not want to be alone!’ ‘Ciri,’ the sorceress said softly. ‘Once I told you everything I do is for your own good. Please trust me. Run.’ Ciri was already on the stairs when she heard Yennefer’s voice again. The sorceress stood beside a pillar, leaning her forehead against it.
‘I love you, my daughter,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘Run.’
‘‘I’ve found a company!’ Geralt continued shaking his head. ‘Comrades in arms! A team of heroes! There is nothing to do but laugh. One who makes verses with a lute. A foul-mouthed female half wild, half dryad. A four hundred year old vampire. And a fucking Nilfgaardian who insists that he is not Nilfgaardian.’ ‘And leading them is a Witcher, sick with remorse, helplessness and an inability to make decisions.’ Regis finished calmly. ‘Indeed, I propose that we travel incognito, to avoid arousing sensation.’ ‘And laughter.’ Milva added.
Gently worn trench
in my floor suitable for my inevitable pacing? Check.
I am so ready to
start this review.
THEN: ALL OF THE
up from chair to pace, breathe heavily, and chug espresso*
Yep, this is gonna
go just swimmingly…
(Trigger warning for
the beginning of this review. I was going originally going to skip it
as to avoid the triggery content, but then I realized I had shit to
say about it. Also a spoiler warning for Dexter in the
beginning. If you want to skip that stuff, just… scroll really
Húrin Thalion, the greatest warrior of Men in the First Age, was the eldest son of Galdor and Hareth, older brother of Huor and Lord of Dor-lómin. He wedded Morwen, a daughter of Baragund of the House of Bëor. Together they had three children: Túrin, Lalaith and Nienor. In F.A. 472 Húrin was captured by Morgoth at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and he and his kin were cursed by the Dark Lord. The curse led to some of the greatest successes and tragedies of the First Age, which are told in the tale called Narn i Chîn Húrin.
But suddenly her eyes looked into his, and then
Hurin knew her; for though they were wild now and full of fear, a light still gleamed in
them hard to endure: the elven-light that long ago had earned her her name, Eledhwen,
proudest of mortal women in the days of old.
‘Eledhwen! Eledhwen!’ Hurin cried; and she rose and stumbled forward, and he caught
her in his arms.
'You come at last,’ she said. 'I have waited too long.’
'It was a dark road. I have come as I could,’ he answered.
'But you are late,’ she said, 'too late. They are lost.’
'I know,’ he said. 'But you are not.’
Almost,’ she said. 'I am spent utterly. I shall go with the sun. They are lost.’ She clutched
at his cloak. 'Little time is left,’ she said. 'If you know, tell me! How did she find him?’
But Hurin did not answer, and he sat beside the stone with Morwen in his arms; and they
did not speak again. The sun went down, and Morwen sighed and clasped his hand and
was still; and Hurin knew that she had died.