Paws Of Fury Quotes

You know already that I will kill you one day. Your last breath will be gasped beneath my paws. Your last drop of blood will be spilled on my fur. Stones will break and the sky will fall when we meet in our final battle.

Her mother had smelled of cold and scales, her father of stone dust and dog. She imagined her husband's mother, whom she had never met, had a whiff of rotting apples, though her stationary had stunk of baby powder and rose perfume. Sally was starch, cedar, her dead grandmother sandalwood, her uncle, swiss cheese. People told her she smelled like garlic, like chalk, like nothing at all. Lotto, clean as camphor at his neck and belly, like electrified pennies at the armpit, like chlorine at the groin. She swallowed. Such things, details noticed only on the edges of thought would not return. 'Land,' Mathilde said, 'odd name for a guy like you.' 'Short for Roland,' the boy said. Where the August sun had been steaming over the river, a green cloud was forming. It was still terrifically hot, but the birds had stopped singing. A feral cat scooted up the road on swift paws. It would rain soon. 'Alright Roland,' Mathilde said, suppressing as sigh, 'sing your song.

Chatting to the gossip of flames waking from the slumber of our flesh-drunk night together— it’s only when I step out to pee do I notice— how far, burgundy-dark, the moon has risen…. On four paws the shepherd- dogs bound, lightly though the trees they hardly touch on earth— we saw it from far sunk here in an always-ache…. Dyeing paling twilight woods— a pair of wasps, spiraling, writhe…. Wetted lips of hers and mine, just-parted, move over each other with tongues just-coming but refuse— like mists of evening they've no place to settle…. Just-here though she's singing she’s in some song from long ago— poised on the brink of twilight longing three thousand miles rush through my heart…. Under undulating curtains— I hover above her the tips of me brushing the tips of her— breathing back and forth a column of air we share our breath slowly asphyxiating…. From burning wood campfire sparks dart off extinguishing in the wet blue dark… how you blow your long wind across my embers, through my soul, she pleads me, take away the pain— I dip a branch in blue water and plunge it into coals…. *** In pre-dawn dark, against a leaping inferno of flames black monolith of wood in the cast iron compartment softens, and—gradually— fractures to cells, warping upward, until from the top a shard splinters: pearls of flame string a fiber and leap in little tongues while the log, glowing, engulfed, is consumed by the inferno contained…. A shadow daunts me, haunts and taunts me now reaching far, now recoiling, now growing bold…. I once sang eruptions and the wind— then appeared you it took my whole life singing only the songs of you and still I sing for you what other refuge can stay me from this torment? So— my doppelganger has arrived no one said it would happen this way but the way his hands fold like mine, the style of his humor, broadness of his smile— even the way he walks…. Licking and lapping these lashings of grasses are in tongues at my feet smoldering's the fury within me— I have seen my fields of daylight warp to noxious-air infernos but still to the clean blue of the flame I take rest in her breast…. His songs I mouth, and in my head is his voice— I cannot hear my own…. in my mind I see myself— thin, stupid— my arms too weak, my own chest too frail— and besides I prefer him more…. Along spiral lines, seed-heads decay— swept away they whirl and writhe in the hot blue fire of evening…. Stuck in a mural of sticky flesh— the family… I am locked-in-arms with brothers and sisters, drooping at the thighs with nieces and nephews, grafted to parents at the scalp, and pasted with toddlers all over… hived, sapped, black I sit, subject to the flavors and aromas of your abuse…. Then— be wrapped in his presence… crescendo to his warmth the cascade of your laughter search in his wrinkles for the boy inside him… I’m just biding here, bragless, trying to admit these rival-streams that flow in one latticework of blood…. Halves of flesh and bosomy hips, lips like dark ripe fruits they're chasing— I chased them… full-feathered was their hair like floss in the sunshine fine-fingered was their style like laces cut to curves: and then there was you, returning one, just there like the midnight moon in my sky at noontime….

A lot of people died,” Ithan growled. “Children died.” “And more will soon die in this war,” Aidas countered coolly. “Hel’s armies shall strike at your command, Bryce Quinlan.” The words dropped like a bomb. “Bullshit,” Ruhn said, face crinkling as he snarled. “You’re waiting for the right moment when we’re all at war with each other, so you’ll be able to find a way into this world at last.” “Not at all,” Aidas said. “I already know the way into this world.” He pointed with a paw to Bryce and inclined his head. “Through my lovely Bryce and the Horn on her back.” Hunt suppressed a growl at the word my as all of them looked to her. Her eyes remained fixed on Aidas, her lips a thin line. The Prince of the Chasm said, “It’s your choice in the end. It has always been your choice.” Bryce shook her head. “Allow me to get this straight: You’re here to convince me to rebel against the Asteri in front of all these people? And what—sign up with Ophion? No, thank you.” Aidas only chuckled. “You should have looked more carefully at the cats picking through the trash in the alley of Ink Street this morning. Should have picked a more discreet location to discuss the rebellion with Fury Axtar.” Bryce hissed, but said nothing as Aidas went on, “But yes—by all means, turn rebel. Help Ophion, if you need some authority to answer to. I can tell you before you undoubtedly ask, I have no information about the connection between Danika Fendyr and Sofie Renast.” Bryce growled, “I don’t even know any Ophion rebels.” Aidas stretched out his front paws, back arching. “That’s not true.” Hunt stilled as the demon yawned. “There’s one right behind you.” Bryce whirled, Hunt with her, lightning poised to strike. Cormac Donnall stood in the doorway, shadows fading from his shoulders. “Hello, Agent Silverbow,” Aidas crooned, then vanished.

I only asked for a name that suits me better than Flameheart!” he objected. “What’s wrong with that?” Sparkpelt’s ears flattened. “It’s disrespectful, that’s what’s wrong.” “To whom?” He stared at her. “To you?” “To Firestar,” Sparkpelt snapped. “How can I be disrespectful to a cat I never met?” Nightheart tried to hold his anger in check, but it was impossible. She was being so unfair. “You never met him either!” “I don’t need to have met him to know what a great warrior he was,” Sparkpelt snapped back. “So what if he was a great warrior?” Nightheart’s tail quivered. “Does that mean every warrior has to have a name like his?” “His kin should,” Sparkpelt growled. “Why?” Nightheart mewed hotly. “Are you scared his kin will forget who he is? Or are you scared the rest of the Clan might forget we’re related to him?” Sparkpelt scrambled to her paws, her pelt spiking along her spine. “How dare you?” she hissed. “I gave you that name because kin is important to me, and it breaks my heart that it’s not important to you!” “If kin’s so important to you, why are you giving me such a hard time?” he retorted. “Because I don’t understand why you’re not honored to be related to Firestar!” Her tail was lashing with fury. “You chose to turn your back on his memory no matter how much you hurt your family. Firestar would never have done such a thing.” You don’t know that. Nightheart swallowed back the words. She wanted to be angry. Nothing he said would change that. Finchlight’s ears twitched self-righteously. “You should find somewhere else to eat,” she mewed. “If you stay here, you’ll give Sparkpelt indigestion.” Nightheart stared at her in disbelief. Why did they care so much about his name? Shouldn’t they care more about who he was?

with agony, and he felt warm, sticky blood pooling beneath his paws. His Clanmates’ furious words seemed to be coming from a long way off, as if he were underwater,

For the first time, a look of uncertainty flickered across Tigercalw's face, as the few cats he had trusted turned him down. "What about you, Dusteplt?" he demanded. "You'll have richer pickings with me than ever you will in ThunderClan." The young brown tabby got deliberately to his paws and picked his way through the surrounding cats until he stood in front of Tigerclaw. "I looked up to you," he meowed in a clear, level voice. "I wanted to be like you. But Redtail was my mentor. I owe him more than any cat. And you killed him." Grief an fury made his limbs shake, but he kept going. "You killed him and betrayed the Clan. I'd rather die than follow you." He turned and stalked away. A murmur of appreciation rose from the listening cats and Fireheart heard Whitestorm whisper, "Well said, youngster.

The young brown tabby got deliberately to his paws and picked his way through the surrounding cats until he stood in front of Tigerclaw. “I looked up to you,” he meowed in a clear, level voice. “I wanted to be like you. But Redtail was my mentor. I owe him more than any cat. And you killed him.” Grief and fury made his limbs shake, but he kept going. “You killed him and betrayed the Clan. I’d rather die than follow you.” He turned and stalked away.