Clan Wolf Quotes

The bluejacket girlie rode like a clan warrior, but there was no way she'd escape. It was a private life-and-death contest that had nothing to do with him. He told himself he should ride on, grateful that the chase would keep them occupied while he took a different path. But what had he told Rebecca when she'd asked what he meant to do when he returned to the Fells? 'I'm tired of people in power picking on the weak. I'm going to help them.

the beast who dreams of man and has so dreamt in running dreams a hundred thousand years and more. Dreams of that malignant lesser god come pale and naked and alien to slaughter all his clan and kin and rout them from their house. A god insatiable whom no ceding could appease nor any measure of blood.

Wow,” the bobcat muttered from his desk. “Your sister’s right. Your legs really are skinny.” Toni briefly thought about swiping all the cat’s crap off his desk, but that wasn’t something she’d do to anyone who wasn’t one of her siblings. But that was the beauty of being one of the Jean-Louis Parker clan . . . sometimes you didn’t have to do anything at all, because there was a sibling there to take care of it for you. “It must be hard,” Kyle mused to the bobcat. “One of the superior cats. Revered and adored throughout history as far back as the ancient Egyptians. And yet here you sit. At a desk. A common drone. Taking orders from lowly canines and bears. Do your ancestors call to you from the great beyond, hissing their disappointment to you? Do they cry out in despair at where you’ve ended up despite such a lofty bloodline? Or does your hatred spring from the feline misery of always being alone? Skulking along, wishing you had a mate or a pack or pride to call your own? But all you have is you . . . and your pathetic job as a drone? Does it break your feline heart to be so . . . average? So common? So . . . human?” Toni cringed, which helped her not laugh.

Pack or clan, they took care of each other.

Your wolf doesn’t need to hate what he kills. It would be easier if we could kill without compunction, like your wolf does, but then, we wouldn’t be human.

He didn't want just one morning with her, just one dawn breaking across the horizon. He wanted every dawn forever, every night, and the hours in between.

she was willing to accept that he needed a very plump yin to his hard-muscled yang. Wanting

I will go to the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes, but I shall go not as a member of the MacHeath clan — no, I shall go as a free runner. I reject you. I deny you, I refuse and repudiate you as my clan.

Lupus Star Wolves (the spirits of dead wolves who have traveled to the Cave of Souls) air ceilidh fyre (lightning) chieftains (clan leaders) lords (pack leaders) skreeleens byrrgis leaders captains lieutenants sublieutenants corporals packers gnaw wolves unranked Obeas owls other four-legged animals other birds, except owls plants earth fire water

Each of them lived in a fear of discovery; each of them who was able built up his own defenses of swagger, pretense, and loud assertion—the great masculine flower of gentleness, courage, and honor died in a foul tangle. The great clan of go-getter was emergent in young boys—big in voice, violent in threat, withered and pale at heart—the “He-men” were on the rails.

Don’t you see, Mhairie, if we don’t keep telling the stories, we shall forget them. And if we forget them, our marrow will leak away, our clan marrow will vanish. Now was not the time to forget. Now was the time to remember. Memory, Dearlea thought, is the life-pumping artery, the blood in that artery. Memory is the sinew, the muscle that stretches back to the Beyond and before the Beyond. Have we not come full circle? she wondered. Now is not the time to forget. She felt a quiet despair, for there was song deep within her desperate to get out. Lupus, she would not die with the song inside her! Her mother, who rode next to her on another narwhale’s back with Abban, turned toward her and howled, “Sing, Dearlea! Sing! You are a skreeleen. The first in this new world.” So Dearlea threw back her head and sang. And out of that dark place we fled That broken land so scarred and dead Our hopes our dreams forever gone. Then did we follow this wolf so bold To this place that did unfold As if lost in mists of time It was the Distant Blue A new world sublime. On a bridge of ice we walked and walked We now give thanks to Lupus, to Glaux, To Ursus and gods not known, And to whales who carried us The last way To here in our new home. The other creatures began to join in. The wolves howled, and from Toby’s and Burney’s deep chests came sonorous roars that stirred Faolan’s heart. Dearlea was so right to sing, to remind them of what they had left behind.

Is a fuckin’ miracle, ye know, creatin’ life inside your body. Is how we know women are the center of the Clan, the circle, all of it. They keeps it going. We men, we does things to, protects, provides, but our life stops with us. Only way we bring life beyond ourselves is if we has a woman who bears us a child. To give us that gift… is beyond words, how much we loves her for it. Grows a babe inside her, suffers so much to bring it into the world, nourishes it with her own body. Fuckin’ amazing.” Jodah shook his head, voice sharp with longing.

Your father doesn't like me," Charley said to Wesley later when Wesley had gotten them away from the crowd. "Father doesn't seem to like anyone," Wesley said. "Don't let it worry you." "But you brought me to his house. I don't like to be in the home of someone who doesn't like me." "But my brother Skylar claims it is his home, and I believe that Skylar does like you," Wesley said. "He's Indian like you." "Yes. We are both Cherokees. What is Skylar's clan?" "I believe I've heard him say that it's Wolf." "Then we are related. I'm Wolf clan." "That's amazing, Charley. So you and my brother are related. Does that make us related too?" "I don't think so, Wesley, because the relationship is through our mothers." "Well, that's too bad. I would like to be your brother.

Ascent To The Sierras poet Robinson Jeffers #140 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsCommentsStatsE-BooksBiographyQuotationsShare on FacebookShare on Twitter Poems by Robinson Jeffers : 8 / 140 « prev. poem next poem » Ascent To The Sierras Beyond the great valley an odd instinctive rising Begins to possess the ground, the flatness gathers to little humps and barrows, low aimless ridges, A sudden violence of rock crowns them. The crowded orchards end, they have come to a stone knife; The farms are finished; the sudden foot of the slerra. Hill over hill, snow-ridge beyond mountain gather The blue air of their height about them. Here at the foot of the pass The fierce clans of the mountain you'd think for thousands of years, Men with harsh mouths and eyes like the eagles' hunger, Have gathered among these rocks at the dead hour Of the morning star and the stars waning To raid the plain and at moonrise returning driven Their scared booty to the highlands, the tossing horns And glazed eyes in the light of torches. The men have looked back Standing above these rock-heads to bark laughter At the burning granaries and the farms and the town That sow the dark flat land with terrible rubies... lighting the dead... It is not true: from this land The curse was lifted; the highlands have kept peace with the valleys; no blood in the sod; there is no old sword Keeping grim rust, no primal sorrow. The people are all one people, their homes never knew harrying; The tribes before them were acorn-eaters, harmless as deer. Oh, fortunate earth; you must find someone To make you bitter music; how else will you take bonds of the future, against the wolf in men's hearts?

Is exactly what it is. What we does in bed, it’s wonderful and I loves it, but it’s a small part of what being Clan is. We are so much more than fuckin’. Ava, I’se spent damn near every day with Blaise for the past twenty years. Maybe more. Ye knows how many times we’ve had sex?” Ava was not sure if she wanted to know the answer, but her scarred mate kept speaking. “Not a one. Not even when we was boys, and everyone tries everything. We never touches each other, because I knows what’s with us is more important than our cocks and where we stick ‘em. I’se never fucked any of me Clanmates, yet they is everything in me life. I lives for them, I dies for them. And ye. One time I was whipped was when I told Daven I wished we hadn’t Clanned him. We don’t normally get the whip for words, but that was fuckin’ cruel of me, and I deserves what I got there. And he still came and stood there and watched, and when it was over he helped carry me home and bind up me wounds.” Vaguely, Ava remembered him telling her something about that before, but the gritty reality had not sunk in. “But this is different,” she begged. “I’m not Daven. This is about my shame, and I don’t want you to see it.” “But see it we will. And we will still love ye and we will still carry ye home and we will bind your wounds and carry ye to the privy and do whatever the fuck we need to for ye until you’re well again. And we’ll do our best to make sure ye don’t head down such a path again, but if ye does, we’ll turn ye round and bring ye back. And if ye heads down that path ten more times we goes after ye ten more times and we never leaves ye alone because that is Clan and that is who we are.

Scarface had fulfilled my prophecy, living up to his nickname and now I was the little wolf running off to the jungle with Timone and Pumbaa.

In decades past, the three clans of the island - tree witches, gargoyles, and wolves, had cloaked their land with many layers of protection. Their combined magic had created such a powerful force it had remained undetected by human technology. When a feud erupted between the witches and gargoyles twenty-five years ago it led to a division of land. Without reinforcements from the clans' combined magic, the protection seeped away.

You know him?” “Aye. He’s a… member of one of the hunting clans. And a family friend. A slightly irritating one who follows when he shouldn’t,” she added with a tired smile, “but a friend nonetheless.” “Slightly irritating? Then maybe it’ll be no loss to any of you if I snap his neck,” Conall offered. Sorcha sighed. “As pleasant as that would be, I’ll have to decline, as I would miss him dearly. Let him go,” she said, saving

Without waiting for her permission, Conall lifted her down from the saddle. His warm hands lingered at her waist even after he set her on her feet. “You’ll ride me, if you have the need.” The low, husky words made her entire body clench. Heat and desire curled in her lower belly, invoking sensual visions of their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. No. She was not going to let one flirtatious wolf get her off track—even if his kisses were divine. Even if he’d swooped in to the rescue when she needed him most, displaying loyalty she hadn’t encountered in anyone beyond her clan, except

Conall must have joined the morning hunting party. His willingness to assist others and volunteer his time to another clan endeared him to her even more. If Heldreth’s words were true—if he did desire her for more than a passing fling—could she ask for a kinder, more generous and selfless man to court her than the leader of Clan TalWolthe? And did she even want another to try?

Doesn’t your clan and mate wonder where you’ve gone off to?” “Don’t have a mate yet.” Why did that little tidbit bring a skip to her pulse?

At another time, in another place, he would have courted her with animal skins and fresh meat for her family. He would have hunted for her and her granny that evening and done whatever was necessary to prove he could provide. But Conall lacked the time. No matter how much he desired Red, or how much the inner wolf inside him demanded for him to remain, he’d be foolish to turn aside his quest to pursue a human girl. With that in mind, he lowered to four paws and raced away into the forest. Chasing the beautiful huntress could wait for another time. Vengeance for Clan TalWolthe came first.

The greatest adventure of all,” Conall agreed. “As my wife, my equal, and the mother alpha of our clan. No one could deserve it more than you, Red.” He buried his face in her dark hair. “Your

Look I don’t know why I am here, what is to happen to me. How can I possibly trust you, if you are part of the clan who brought me here?’ He tried to keep the panic out of his voice for surely she already despised him as a weak fool, slurring and drooling his words out through a swollen jaw, like the village idiot.

Dante Oscura was the Dragon born of Wolves, the King of the Oscura Clan and one of the strongest assholes I knew.

The warrior who went by the moniker "the Wolf" was a favorite subject of the troubadours of late. Every other song they sang was about him, praising his courage and prowess in battle as well as his handsome face and hair that was "black as sin". According to those songs, the Wolf was a warrior considered as intelligent and deadly as the wolf he was named for. But he was actually a lone wolf in those songs, because he spoke little and aligned himself with no particular clan, instead offering his sword arm for a price. He was a mercenary, but an honorable one. It was said he served only those with a just cause.

Two crazies and one rude, possibly sane, one. Esme

Meggernie

thee times their size

I also know better than anyone why she wants to keep it on." The

You're the only love I will ever have." Tears glittered in the big wolf's eyes, as if he had already lost his mate forever, her leaving only a formality. "You said we would always be together." Esme slid her hand across his chest so that the palm centered over his heart as she answered. "I will always be with you."  

And ye were promised t'Alistair?" The man took his seat again, leaning back and crossing his arms as he studied her, "Laird of clan MacFalon?" "Yes, but..." She swallowed a bite of stew, meeting those blue eyes across the table. He missed nothing, this man. "I didn't want to marry him." "That explains why ye put an arrow in 'im?

You can’t go home again,” wrote Thomas Wolfe, and he might as well have been writing about the newly minted Imperial Japanese Navy aviator, resplendently clad in blue and brass, returning home to visit his family. Of course his parents and siblings were overjoyed to see him, and he them. He had done them a great honor, lifting the status of his entire clan in the eyes of neighbors, colleagues, and friends. He was bigger, stronger, tougher, older, wiser. But his homecoming was inevitably poignant, and more than a little strange. He might have dreamed of home every night he was away, clasping it in his imagination as a sanctuary from the brutality of his tormentors and the unremitting toil of his training. Once there, however, he was inevitably taken aback by the comfort, the ease, the disorder, the aimlessness. The reality of home had steadily diverged from the image he had carried in his mind. It contrasted too sharply with the harsh, purposeful life to which he had grown accustomed. He loved his family as much as he ever had, and they loved him as much as they ever had, but he was aghast at how much space had grown between them. They could never fully understand what he had done and endured, or what he had become. That was a secret known only to his classmates, his fellow survivors, who had shared in the long crucible of his training—the fatigue, the humiliations, the beatings, the deprivations, the chronic dread of expulsion, the ecstasy of flight, and the inconceivable joy he had felt upon receiving those blessed wings. He might never admit it, but his fellow airmen were closer to him now than his own kin. He belonged with them. He could not go home again because now the navy was his home.

What Wolf began to realize was that the secret of Roseto wasn’t diet or exercise or genes or location. It had to be Roseto itself. As Bruhn and Wolf walked around the town, they figured out why. They looked at how the Rosetans visited one another, stopping to chat in Italian on the street, say, or cooking for one another in their backyards. They learned about the extended family clans that underlay the town’s social structure. They saw how many homes had three generations living under one roof, and how much respect grandparents commanded. They went to mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel and saw the unifying and calming effect of the church. They counted twenty-two separate civic organizations in a town of just under two thousand people. They picked up on the particular egalitarian ethos of the community, which discouraged the wealthy from flaunting their success and helped the unsuccessful obscure their failures.

There was some friction in the Wolf Clan as to where she would fit into the Clan hierarchy, and when Jennifer attempted to chastise Desandra in her very formal way, Desandra told her to cool her tits. Every time I thought about it, I laughed.

I'll come with you, love,” he said in a rough voice. “I'll dive right into the depths of the Oscura Clan and trust you to make sure I don't fall flat on my face when we get there. It doesn't even matter if I do though. I've tried to go without you, I've tried to deny my own heart, but I can't anymore. I don't want to. The only thing I want is you, love. So if you want me too then why don't we just run off into the fucking sunset and try to forget this place ever existed?

I think," Khine said gently, "that it's no longer up to you. You can't honestly think you can control everything your warlords and their lords do. Even now, it's clear that they're moving on their own, queen's approval be damned. The fate of your nation is out of your hands." "Such comfort," I drawled. He smirked. "The truth, nothing more. You make it seem as if this whole thing hinged on you maintaining this marriage. You never considered the snakes around you? That perhaps you actually succeeded against all odds? How many betrothals fall apart within the year? Yet as much as your clans hated each other, you tried to make it work. You fulfilled your duties. You bore them an heir. Twenty-six years, you kept this thing at bay. Now that the inevitable unrest has arrived, why should you blame only yourself? What about the man who was supposed to shoulder half this burden?

Placing her palm against the nearby spruce covered in fluffy white snow, Denyse bowed her head knowing the decision being made was one she didn't want to make. She needed Joseph, and so far, he's proved that he'll be there to make sure no one else got hurt.

Sasha's fear was what kept her moving. All while she chanted in her head. Run. Don't look back. Run. Don't get caught.

Boys were taught to hunt, fish, and fight by the men in their clan, notably their mother's brothers, although sometimes all the young men in a town were instructed together. Boys were both praised and chided, but never struck, which was a sign of disrespect. They were allowed only two meals a day to instill a good appetite and willpower. A young hunter first had to learn the ways of the animals--to become one with them by entering their habitat. He was left by a stream to study the animals that came to drink at the edge, or he was sent high up a mountain, where he learned to hide in the green leaves and shadows. During his training as a hunter, he went all day without food to learn discipline. He was taught to be as silent as his own breath, from daybreak to dusk, neither speaking nor making a sound, so that he could better listen to the voices of the woods. Hunting was a way of life, and a boy learned not to change nature, but to find a place for himself within it. Later, if a young man wished to become a shaman, he could be apprenticed, but only after he had learned to be a good hunter and warrior. The young hunter learned that because people had wastefully killed too much game in the past, the animals had cursed them with disease. Certain plants, known only to the shamans, provided cures. A young man believed that if he sprinkled tobacco on a heap of ashes at home and it caught fire, he would have a good hunt. If the tobacco did not ignite, he would find no game. A hunter knew not to kill the wolf, which was considered a messenger from the spirit world. One could sit by the fire at night, listen to the wolves' distant, mournful howls, and learn much. If a hunter killed a wolf, game would vanish, and his bow would become useless until purified by the shaman. The hunter could also place the weapon in a swift river overnight or give it to a child to play with as a toy for a while. Yet he had to remember that the wolf always sought revenge--death for death. The young hunter could protect himself by reciting a prayer and bathing morning and evening in a stream.

There is a battle of two wolves inside us all. One is evil: it is anger, envy, greed, arrogance, jealousy, resentment, lies. The other is good: it is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, truth. The wolf that wins? The one you feed. —Cherokee proverb Spanning

I’d keep that on you at the feast tonight. I don’t like the way some of Lochlan’s clan are looking at you.