Dark Eden
“Michael’s names! So many other times, when he could have shown his feelings a bit more and it would have helped, he hadn’t. But now, in this moment when we really didn’t need it at all, he’d let himself go. And what had made him cry anyway? He’d been like someone watching a story, like the ones who cried when I did Gela’s Ring. And people never just cried because of a story, did they? They always cried because it reminded them of real things. It reminded them of things they’d lost or never had,... or times when they’d been found wanting, or times when other people let them down. So what did the story of the bat and the slinker do for John? What did it remind him of? The bat was him, I suppose, lonely and cold and proud up there. But what was the slinker?
The tree stood in a hole it had melted in the ice. I guess the hole was about ten yards across and three yards deep. The sides of it were steeply sloping smooth ice, glowing greeny blue in the light of the tree. But in one place they’d been trampled down by woollybucks into a sort of ramp of rough snow that we could climb down.MoreLess
The tree stood in a hole it had melted in the ice. I guess the hole was about ten yards across and three yards deep. The sides of it were steeply sloping smooth ice, glowing greeny blue in the light of the tree. But in one place they’d been trampled down by woollybucks into a sort of ramp of rough snow that we could climb down.MoreLess
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