Echo Fort Quotes

Are those snow forts?” A nod. Something white shot across the field, white and hard and glistening, and then— Cassian’s yowl echoed off the mountains around us. Followed by, “You bastard!” Rhys’s answering laugh was bright as the sun on snow. I surveyed the three walls of snow—the barricades—that bordered the field as Mor erected an invisible shield against the bitter wind. It did little to drive away the cold, though. “They’re having a snowball fight.

Hello, little witch,” he growled, his voice a low timbre which crawled across my skin and sank into my veins, leaving every inch of me exposed to his scrutiny. “Hello, monster of mine,” I replied in kind, my voice a purr dressed in silk, the darkness in me rising to the surface and offering up its own greeting.

Perched upon the stones of a bridge The soldiers had the eyes of ravens Their weapons hung black as talons Their eyes gloried in the smoke of murder To the shock of iron-heeled sticks I drew closer in the cripple’s bitter patience And before them I finally tottered Grasping to capture my elusive breath With the cockerel and swift of their knowing They watched and waited for me ‘I have come,’ said I, ‘from this road’s birth, I have come,’ said I, ‘seeking the best in us.’ The sergeant among them had red in his beard Glistening wet as he showed his teeth ‘There are few roads on this earth,’ said he, ‘that will lead you to the best in us, old one.’ ‘But you have seen all the tracks of men,’ said I ‘And where the mothers and children have fled Before your advance. Is there naught among them That you might set an old man upon?’ The surgeon among this rook had bones Under her vellum skin like a maker of limbs ‘Old one,’ said she, ‘I have dwelt In the heat of chests, among heart and lungs, And slid like a serpent between muscles, Swum the currents of slowing blood, And all these roads lead into the darkness Where the broken will at last rest. ‘Dare say I,’ she went on,‘there is no Place waiting inside where you might find In slithering exploration of mysteries All that you so boldly call the best in us.’ And then the man with shovel and pick, Who could raise fort and berm in a day Timbered of thought and measured in all things Set the gauge of his eyes upon the sun And said, ‘Look not in temples proud, Or in the palaces of the rich highborn, We have razed each in turn in our time To melt gold from icon and shrine And of all the treasures weeping in fire There was naught but the smile of greed And the thick power of possession. Know then this: all roads before you From the beginning of the ages past And those now upon us, yield no clue To the secret equations you seek, For each was built of bone and blood And the backs of the slave did bow To the laboured sentence of a life In chains of dire need and little worth. All that we build one day echoes hollow.’ ‘Where then, good soldiers, will I Ever find all that is best in us? If not in flesh or in temple bound Or wretched road of cobbled stone?’ ‘Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant, ‘This blood would cease its fatal flow, And my surgeon could seal wounds with a touch, All labours will ease before temple and road, Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant, ‘Crows might starve in our company And our talons we would cast in bogs For the gods to fight over as they will. But we have not found in all our years The best in us, until this very day.’ ‘How so?’ asked I, so lost now on the road, And said he, ‘Upon this bridge we sat Since the dawn’s bleak arrival, Our perch of despond so weary and worn, And you we watched, at first a speck Upon the strife-painted horizon So tortured in your tread as to soak our faces In the wonder of your will, yet on you came Upon two sticks so bowed in weight Seeking, say you, the best in us And now we have seen in your gift The best in us, and were treasures at hand We would set them humbly before you, A man without feet who walked a road.’ Now, soldiers with kind words are rare Enough, and I welcomed their regard As I moved among them, ’cross the bridge And onward to the long road beyond I travel seeking the best in us And one day it shall rise before me To bless this journey of mine, and this road I began upon long ago shall now end Where waits for all the best in us. ―Avas Didion Flicker Where Ravens Perch

Maj. Charles Abeyawardena, a strategic planning officer with the Army’s Center for Lessons Learned at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, arrived in Afghanistan in 2005 to interview U.S. combat advisers and senior Afghan officials about their experiences. As an aside, he decided to ask low-ranking Afghan soldiers why they had enlisted. He said their responses echoed those usually given by American troops: it’s a solid paycheck, I want to serve my country, it’s an opportunity to do something new with my life. But when he followed up by asking whether they would stay in the Afghan army after the United States left, the answers startled him. “The majority, almost everyone I talked to, said, ‘No,’ ” Abeyawardena said in an Army oral-history interview. “They were going to go back and grow opium or marijuana or something like that, because that’s where the money is.

The master of ceremonies was "Cactus" Pryor, "the George Jessel of Texas"; he apologized to the chancellor "because they had been unable to find a way to barbecue sauerkraut." There was a Mexican mariachi band, square dances by the Billyettes, a precision dance team (not all that precise) from Fredericksburg High School and then the German carols sung by cowgirls - the St. Mary's High School choir in full cowgirl regalia: Stetsons, blue skirts, white blouses and red neckerchiefs - under the direction of a nun in head-to-tie black habit. They closed with "Deep in the Heart of Texas" - and that was in German, too. "Die Sterne bei Nacht sind gross und klar / Tief in das Herz von Texas..." After each couplet, the traditional four Texas claps. At the conclusion, a cowboy yell, echoed by the audience. Only after that did the explanation for the grand piano appear: tull, curly-haired Van Cliburn of Fort Worth, whom newspapers had been calling "the pride of Texas" ever since his victory in 1958 in the first International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow. The thunderous chords of the young virtuoso's selections from Beethoven, Brahms and other German composers filled the rickety little building.

The magnitude of Fort Peck in his telling of it gripped me the way the notion of a thirty-year winter had, and Zoe's magical presence in the back room, and the selection of the Medicine Lodge as the most pleasurable of all the saloons in the state, and family fame in newspapers far and wide, and Delano Roberston arriving in a cloud of sheep, the entire cascade of this one-of-a-kind year; the idea of outsize life, the feeling of being present as things happened way beyond ordinary in human experience. I suppose it was something like a mental fever, the headiest kind to have. Ever since Pop consolidated his thinking there in the hallway of the house, where my finger snap still echoed, my imagination and I knew no limits, and at twelve or at any other known age, there is no spell more dizzying.

Come, let’s get in the house. You never know with those savages. They’re just as likely to double back to catch us unaware.” The door to the cabin stood open, and Loretta followed the others inside. Turning, she faced the men, her eyes full of questions. Henry leaned his rifle against the all. “Ain’t no rhyme nor reason to what them critters do sometimes. I don’t reckon they’ll be back.” Tom, still standing by the window, frowned and shook his head, his gaze fastened on the lance in the yard. “I ain’t so sure. A Comanch’ don’t leave his mark just anywheres. Couldn’t have said it plainer. Loretta’s just got herself betrothed.” Amy giggled, a high, shrill laugh that echoed Loretta’s own feeling of unreality. “You mean he wants Loretta as a squaw? Why, that’d be worse than her marryin’ up with Mr. Wea--” Amy’s eyes bugged, and her cheeks flamed. “I mean…well…” “Hush, Amy!” Worrying her apron, Rachel shot Tom a questioning glance. “What makes you say such a thing?” “We all heard him lay claim to her and say he’d be back.” Tom avoided Loretta’s gaze. “Comanches don’t make false promises. My guess is he’ll bring a couple of blankets and a horse or two in trade. That’s the way they do things amongst themselves when they buy a wife. Not to say he’ll stay so polite if you don’t accommodate him and turn her over.” Rachel clamped a hand over her heart. “Oh, mercy, we’ve got to get Loretta out of here then, to Fort Belknap, perhaps.” “Ain’t no use, Rachel,” Tom said softly. “They’ll have sentries posted. You try to leave with her, and they’ll run you to the ground. Ain’t nobody gonna take a Comanche’s woman.

She won’t come that way.” Jack’s stepmother stepped out beside him on the large terrace in front of the fortress. All around them, the setting sun painted the sky a brilliant red and purple that only accentuated the jagged cliffs of the isle of Berlengas, jutting out into the sea around them. The wind had risen, slapping the waves into a frenzy. Whitecapped, they dashed themselves against the base of the narrow causeway that connected the Forte São João Batista with the island. “I know that,” said Jack quickly, but despite himself, his eyes turned again to that narrow and twisting stone bridge, the shadows playing tricks on him, presenting him with the image of a carriage, the echo of horses’ hooves against the stone. His stepmother was right: anyone would be mad to attempt the bridge at dusk in a high wind. Under the very best of conditions it would be dangerous. And these were not the best of conditions. If Jane came at all, she would come by sea. “She will come,” said Jack fiercely. “She knows what she’s doing.” His stepmother furled her parasol, tucking it under her arm. “Most of the time.” Before Jack could retort, she added in a voice like vinegar, “I care about her, too, you know.

Lonely places draw lonely people, she thinks as she walks farther north, the fort on her right. They echo inside us, and we cannot help but listen.

...the legion, which as we have noted may already have been depleted by Trajan's troop movements, was moved north-westwards whole or in part from York to a new fortress at Carlisle sometime in the 110s to counter a growing threat from the south-west of Scotland. Then, at a date probably around 120, an uprising began in the Lowlands that gathered momentum and engulfed Trimontium at Newstead and the other forts further south along two corridors, one down Dere Street to the Corbridge area and the other veering south-west towards Carlisle. At some point, probably early in the rebellion, the IXth, accompanied by a large auxilliary force (scholars rarely mention that some auxilliary units from Britain are also unaccounted for after the 120s), emerged to engage a native force of superior numbers. ...it would be good to have more material evidence to confirm the Borderlands as the epicentre of the unpleasantness. Only time and the future assiduous efforts of another legion, this time of metal detectorists, are likely to tell us if the forlorn artefacts strewn across the moorlands of Lowland Scotland represent the last echoes of the IXth Hispana.

I am not so hollow when I am with you,

If you think I’m filthy now, imagine how dirty I could get if I liked you.

Though I supposed that was the least of what I’d lost since falling prey to the magic of my captors.

So go and seek your crown but when you find it rusted to the core, remember there’s a place for ya here.

These are not marks of training. Who placed these on you?” he asked, so low I nearly didn’t catch it.

This book is dedicated to the Booktok community who are a classy barrel of loons that would love nothing more than to have a winged Fae to show up on their doorstep and whisk them away to a forced marriage in the Fae realm (“Oh no! How terrible! please don’t tie me up, marry me and spank me pleaaaaaase, Mr Hot Wings!”)

I am not so hollow when I am with you.

Your sister, Ransom. My not-so-worthless daughter.

I told you; you cannot resist the Nightfire,” he said, his voice a hollow space that chilled me to the bone.

Alright then, doll. I hear ya. Greatness it is. Tea?” he asked brightly, adjusting the pile of weapons in his arms. “Mrs Fig makes a grand ol’ tea. It’s as sweet as a rose-watered cunt and as tart as a whore’s tit.” “Sounds delicious,” I said dryly. “But I’m not sure I can drink tea right now.” “And why’s that, lass?” “My friend was back there on that cliff,” I said thickly. “I don’t know if…” I couldn’t make myself finish that sentence, refusing the possibility of his death. “Ah,” Mavus said. “Well then that’s more of a reason for tea than ever, I say. Ain’t nothin’ a good cup o’ tea can’t soothe.

Go home, bathwater bitch.” North pointed to the window. “Get fucked, scorch mark,” I bit back.

Yeah well, potato potarto.

A large shadow fell over me from the right and I whirled around, gasping at the sight of Galomp standing there with a teddy bear clutched to his chest, wearing an honest-to-shit nightgown that fell down to his ankles and a sleep bonnet to match.

I have no need of another mission,” I growled. “I’m already set on a hunt I have no desire to complete before I am able to exact the revenge which is owed to me. If the dark wants me then it will have to wait. I have enough claims on the tattered pieces of my soul and there isn’t room for another grasping hand to take hold of it.

I am not so hollow when I am with you

You are my most ruinous fantasy. You're like the sun drawing me to your orbit at all times, there is no light when you aren't near, no joy outside of your company, no point to my existence at all. You found me in the dark and set me free so that I could dedicate myself to worshipping you for all time, and I want to spend every second I have making you feel just a fraction of the bliss you offer me with your mere existence. Tell me you want me the same way, spectre.

I was a Dragon and my kind hoarded treasure so of course I’d been capturing each memory with her and savouring it for the precious gift it had been.