Yeti Quotes

Josh: "What is this thing?" Gasper: "It's a Yeti. An abominable snowman." Biff: "This is what happens when you fuck a sheep?" Josh: "Not an abomination, abominable.

Come thaw my frozen heart, my little arctic kitten.” Unable to resist, Aria jumped in and picked up the next line. “No chance, my yeti man, I’d rather be frostbitten.” “Let me be your snowman. Come live in my igloo.” “I’d rather freeze to death than hibernate with you.

What?" she asked again. He pointed ahead of them. "See that?" "What, the snow?" "Beyond that." "More snow?" "Stop looking at the snow.

I'm now unmistakeably attracted to the yeti.

The first words that are read by seekers of enlightenment in the secret, gong-banging, yeti-haunted valleys near the hub of the world, are when they look into The Life of Wen the Eternally Surprised. The first question they ask is: 'Why was he eternally surprised?' And they are told: 'Wen considered the nature of time and understood that the universe is, instant by instant, recreated anew. Therefore, he understood, there is in truth no past, only a memory of the past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.' The first words read by the young Lu-Tze when he sought perplexity in the dark, teeming, rain-soaked city of Ankh-Morpork were: 'Rooms For Rent, Very Reasonable.' And he was glad of it.

He had a great laugh, a sexy laugh. My laugh was the mating call of the Yeti.

Listen to me. Love is a Yeti. It is bigger than you and frightening and terrible. It makes loud and vicious noises. It is hungry all the time. It has horns and teeth and the force of its fists is more than anyone can bear. It speeds up time and slows it down. And it has its own aims and missions that those who are lucky enough to see it cannot begin to guess. You might see a Yeti once in your life or never. You might live in a village of them. But in the end, not matter how fast you think you can go, the Yeti is always faster than you, and you can only choose how you say hello to it, and whether you shake its hand.

He kissed me wildly, overwhelming me like a giant wave rushing to shore. I was soon lost in the turbulent grasp of his embrace and yet…I knew I was safe. His wild kiss drove me, pushed me, asked me questions I was unwilling to consider. But I was cherished by this dark Poseidon, and though he had the power to crush me utterly, to drown me in the purple depths of his wake, he held me aloft, separate. His passionate kiss changed. It gentled and soothed and entreated. Together we drifted towards a safe harbor. The god of the sea set me down securely on a sandy beach and steadied me as I trembled. Effervescent tingles shot through my limbs delighting me with surges of sparkling sensation like sandy toes tickled by bubbly waves. Finally, the waves moved away and I felt my Poseidon watching me from a distance. We looked at each other knowing we were forever changed by the experience. We both knew that I would always belong to the sea and that I would never be able to part from it and be whole again.

I thought I saw him once, but it turned out to be a yeti

And on the subject of naming animals, can I just say how happy I was to discover that the word yeti, literally translated, apparently means "that thing over there." ("Quick, brave Himalayan Guide - what's that thing over there?" "Yeti." "I see.")

Buck is a mammoth, like a yeti. A huge perverted, hairy whore of a yeti. According to the sportscasters, Buck's an excellent hockey player. I'd agree, based on his yearly salary alone. No one gets much money for sucking, not even extremely skilled prostitutes.

guess she’s particularly looking forward to watching Keefe dance around in a yeti costume at the Opening Ceremonies.

My hair curls like a yeti’s pubes in this humidity—I’m starting to figure out why product was invented!

I mean, you make it sound like I’m the yeti or something.", Celestra Caine from FADE by Kailin Gow

Compassion is the same way,' Joshua said. 'That's what the yeti knew. He loved constantly, instantly, spontaneously, without though or words. That's what he taught me. Love is not something you think about, it is a state in which you dwell. That was his gift.

She'd been trained as a child no to trust anyone, but he'd just saved her life, and she was freezing. He could be a yeti for all she cared.

You know that Yeti-beard doesn’t make you look more manly, right?” Dean says cheerfully as we walk out the door. Tuck shrugs. “I was going for rugged, actually.” I snicker. “Well, it’s not that, either, Babyface. You look like a mad scientist.

I listen to silence. And you have a lot to say. Although I haven't quite figured out what it is yet....I promise not to delve into what makes your silence so loud, if you promise not to walk out on me.

Amy Elliot Dunne is like a yeti - coveted and folkloric - ...

GET READY TO HAVE YOUR ASS KICKED, YETI!

Its better to be thought a fool, than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt.

I stand by what I said. I wish I’d known you back then. I wish I’d…been there for you.” She scoffed. “I’d have chased you away.” “Baby, a little something about me you might not know yet…I don’t run that easily. And you don’t scare me.

Buck is mammoth, like a yeti. A huge, perverted, hairy whore of a yeti. According to the sportscasters, Buck’s an excellent hockey player. I’d agree, based on his yearly salary alone. No one gets that much money for sucking, not even extremely skilled prostitutes.

Begging your pardon,' groused the Yeti, 'but I believe you haven't the first idea of what's happened to me or the weather in Fairyland or the least fact about the least thing in the known universe. Just my opinion, of course.

Buck ambles out of the locker room with a towel draped across his bare shoulders and his hockey pants on, thank the Lord. The amount of fur he sports makes him resemble a matted yeti.

Time is no one's friend--time has no social niceties and holds the door for nobody nowhere. But I hold the door for time, with my one good paw.

Snarling an oath from an Icelandic saga, I reclaimed my place at the head of the queue. "Oy!" yelled a punk rocker, with studs in his cranium. "There's a fackin' queue!" Never apologize, advises Lloyd George. Say it again, only this time, ruder. "I know there's a 'fackin' queue'! I already queued in it once and I am not going to queue in it again just because Nina Simone over there won't sell me a ruddy ticket!" A colored yeti in a clip-on uniform swooped. "Wassa bovver?" "This old man here reckons his colostomy bag entitles him to jump the queue," said the skinhead, "and make racist slurs about the lady of Afro-Caribbean extraction in the advance-travel window." I couldn't believe I was hearing this.

Excuse me, Mr. Yeti, I know we locked you up in a cage and you're pissed as hell, but do you think you could slap the ham for me? And when you cum, could you aim for this little tiny cup that you could easily crush with your huge Yeti hands...

His massive frame occupies most of the doorway. He looks like a linebacker, or is it a quarterback I'm thinking of? The point is, he's a total Sasquatch. His t-shirt and preppy knit cardigan clash with his gargantuan body. Still, he's a decent eye candy. "What can I help you with?" she asks. Her eyes dart back and forth between me and the yeti.

Great, I have a yeti stalker. Totally what every girl dreams of.

They looked ridiculous—like prickly, green yeti feet.

Buck used to be a huge manwhore. Like, epically slutty. Sunny has done a great job of taming him. He’s like a big, well-groomed, fun-loving yeti when it comes to her.

regard him as a cross between a game show host and a cartoon yeti

Woman rescued by Yeti!’How dare they make this into a joke.

I've always liked rooms where the party hasn't started yet...I love the feeling that anything could happen. After the party, when anything already has happened, there's usually the inevitable fact to face that anything wasn't all you'd hoped it to be.

THE DAY THE SAUCERS CAME “That day, the saucer day the zombie day The Ragnarok and fairies day, the day the great winds came And snows, and the cities turned to crystal, the day All plants died, plastics dissolved, the day the Computers turned, the screens telling us we would obey, the day Angels, drunk and muddled, stumbled from the bars, And all the bells of London were sounded, the day Animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti day, The fluttering capes and arrival of the Time Machine day, You didn’t notice any of this because you were sitting in your room, not doing anything not even reading, not really, just looking at your telephone, wondering if I was going to call.

He shrugs. “I spent my whole life trying to stand out from the crowd. I swear to God, I could announce I wanted to live my life as a transsexual vampire yeti, and they’d still say ‘Oh, Jamie. You’re so cute.

Though the yeti crab’s environment seems inhospitable to us, it is nothing to be pitied. The pressure does not crush the crab, and the darkness does not oppress it. It is exactly suited to the life it leads, however strange or repulsive we might find it. What use is the sun to an eyeless crab? It already has everything it needs.

I grit my teeth. Despite everything, I mutter with a smile, “No.” “No, what?” “No, I’m glad you came.” “I haven’t . . .yet.”I slap my book across his arm, blushing furiously. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re incredible.

Thats the thing about memories, they can make you sad, even if they are good memories. You like thinking back to them; they're the greatest treasure we have, and yetis always makes you a little sad because something has irreversibly passed.

Wait!” I shouted, chasing after him. Leaves sawed at my face and arms as I crashed into the undergrowth. “I have questions! How do I know this is real? What if it’s just a dream with a lowercase d? What if I change my mind about Hel tomorrow?” I stopped. Ganesha was gone, but I still felt presences in the jungle. I turned right and circled around to where I thought they were lurking. I felt them leave as I ran madly through the vegetation, yelling, “Why doesn’t everyone use the metric system? What happened to all of the yeti? How come I’ve never seen my archdruid in Tír na nÓg? Could he be the Most Interesting Man in the World? Why aren’t people from Trinidad and Tobago called Tobaggans? Do you know any Vogon poetry?” I

There's absolutely no evidence to indicate that. There never is. Homicidal satanic cults are the detective's version of yetis; no one has ever seen one and there is no proof that they exist, but one big blurry footprint and the media turn into a gibbering, foaming pack, so we have to act as though we take the idea at least semi-seriously.

week yet—I mean, twenty-four inches of perfect cock in just a few days? You

within the four walls of avalanches, I call out to Yeti. Stomping my feet for warmth on the snow the snow eternal.

I killed a man with a Yeti.” Bernice

I think the brain surgerons would love to take a peek inside your head-you know, for science, so they can learn more about what happens when yetis and humans mate

Love was a yeti

yeti pee.

I think Miller is better looking than that guy,” Sunny says. “Yeah, but you have an unusual affinity for yetis, so that’s not really a surprise.

Brain: Let's say you could get into the mind of ANY ONE person and know everything they know. Who would you choose? Heart: That squirrel. Brain: You could choose da Vinci, Einstein, Shakespeare... but instead you choose a squirrel. Heart: Yep! That one. He seems really happy.

(It should also be noted that some of Biana’s returned confidence may stem from her use of one of Elwin’s Emotional Support Stuffed Animals—a stuffed yeti apparently named Lady Sassyfur.)

The Yeti way is to hold sorrow and happiness, both, together. The happiness warms the sorrow like the sun warms ice in the river, and at last the ice melts, and the river flows sweetly on.

Nothing he’d like more than to be thought a warrior leader by a roomful of generals. Who currently, you won’t be shocked to hear, regard him as a cross between a gameshow host and a cartoon yeti.

B'gwus is famous because of his wide range of homes. In some places, he's called Bigfoot. In other places, he's Yeti, or the Abominable Snowman, or Sasquatch. To most people, he is the equivalent of the Loch Ness monster, something silly to bring the tourist in. His image is even used to sell beer, and he is portrayed as a laid-back kind of guy, lounging on mountaintops in patio chairs, cracking open a frosty one.

To write for mere utility is as foolish as to dress for mere utility. Mountaineers do it, and climb Everest in clothes that would have you laughed out of the gutter. I suspect they also communicate quickly and efficiently, poor things. But for the rest of us, not threatened by death and yetis, clothes and language can be things of beauty. I would no more write without art because I didn’t need to, than I would wander outdoors naked just because it was warm enough.

A boy was staring at me. I was quite sure I'd never seen him befroe. Long and leanly muscular, he dwarfed and the molded plastic elementary school chair he was sitting in. Mahogany hair, straight and short. He looked my age, maybe a year older, and he sat with his tailbone against the edge of the chair, his posture aggresively poor, one hand half in a pocket of dark jeans. I looked away, suddenly conscious of my myriad insufficiencies. I was wearing old jeans, which had once been tight but now sagged in weird places, and a yellow T-shirt advertising a band I didn't even like anymore. Also my hair: I had this pageboy haircut, and I hadn't even bothered to, like, brush it. Furthermore, I had ridiculously fat chipmunked cheeks, a side effect of treatment. I looked like a normally proportioned person with a balloon for a head. This was not even to mention the canckle situation. And yet-I cut a glance to him, and his eyes were still on me.

To recognize that the Psalms call us to pray and sing at the intersections of the times--of our time and God's time, of the then, and the now, and the not yet--is to understand how those emotions are to be held within the rhythm of a life lived in God's presence.

Homicidal satanic cults are the detective's version of yetis: no one has ever seen one and there is no proof that they exist, but one big blurry fingerprint and the media turn into a gibbering, foaming pack, so we have to act as though we take the idea at least semi-seriously.

I don’t want to go back. Not for a thousand years, and yet…I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m not taking care of Grandfather and fetching the groceries. I’ve never seriously thought of it, and now it seems I should. Or maybe not, maybe it’s too soon. Maybe there’s no point in talking about automobiles when I don’t know if I’ll live to be nineteen. But it would be fun, wouldn’t it? To ride one. Maybe to ride it with you.

The next time I took notice of you, you were sobbing all over the snow. Well, I thought, finally she's being sensible. Then I realized that you were sobbing because you'd stabbed yourself in the arm, and not out of concern for my imminent demise. I noticed that your tears were freezing as they hit the icy ground and collecting into the shape of a sword. Well, that almost killed me. I mean that---I froze for a full second, during which our yeti friend nearly skewered me through. I dodged, barely, my head whirling. One day I would like for you to explain to me how you heard of the story of Deirdre and her faerie husband, a long-ago king, which is one of the oldest tales in my realm. Do mortals tell it as we do? When the king's murderous sons schemed to steal his kingdom by starving it into torpor with endless winter, Deirdre collected the tears of his dying people and froze them into a sword, with which he was finally able to slay his children. It is a tale many of my own people have forgotten---I know it only because that poor, witless king is my ancestor. I felt the story in my blood and let my magic flow into the sword you were fashioning.

All over Russia, bears were depressed. The Yeti were moving west. This was due to global warming, but the bears hadn’t gone to university so they didn’t understand the bigger picture. All they knew was that one day bears were the best animals, and the next these strange creatures were punching them in the face and eating all their salmon and berries.

He was here, alone. This was his place, all of it! The snow, the ice, the sun, the sky! He breathed deeply, inhaling it all inside him, so it would be part of him always.

But I feel like old-people love is the goal. Anyone can love for a few years. Loving someone for a lifetime is something else entirely.

It’s like you were made for me.

The world is a dirty place. I must have barriers." [Jack from Weekly Furapy]

I'm not ready to die yet.I may be evil, I may deserve what IHUP plans to do to me,but I don't care.I want to live.

It’s a natural law (or supernatural, if you’re so inclined) that weird things appear where people tend to disappear. African jungles, Pacific islands, Himalayan wastelands—wherever expeditionary parties go missing, that’s where lost species, Stonehengey stone idols, the flitting shadows of yetis, and ancient, unsurrendering Japanese soldiers are sure to pop up. The

The practice of making claims that appear to be scientific, but do not actually follow the scientific method of testability and falsification of hypotheses, is usually called pseudoscience.

Too many people are overly respectful, braying, ‘You’re so brave’ and Irv fell smack into that trap. After all what’s so courageous about having cancer? Once we have it, what choice do we have? But the worst thing of all—and thank God Irv doesn’t do this, at least not yet—is all this nonsensical talk about a patient’s courageous struggle with cancer that all too often ends in defeat. How many obituaries do you see stating that so-and-so lost their courageous battle with cancer? I hate that! I absolutely hate it! If someone put that in my obituary, I’d come back and kill him!

white and blue, Victorian-style dress with a bell skirt and puffed sleeves. Alister noticed that the rabbit was even wearing a pair of tiny, white, lace gloves, and smiled goofily. “How curious.

Monsters’ can help us by giving a tangible form to our secret fears. It is less widely appreciated today that ‘wonders’ such as the unicorn legitimize our hopes. But all imaginary animals, to some degree all animals, are ultimately both monsters and wonders, which assist us by deflecting and absorbing our uncertainties . It is hard to tell ‘imaginary animals’ from symbolic, exemplary, heraldic, stylized, poetic, literary, or stereotypical ones. What is reality? Until we answer that question with confidence, a sharp differentiation between real animals and imaginary ones will remain elusive. There is some yeti in every ape, and a bit of Pegasus in every horse. Men and women are not only part angel and part demon, as the old cliché goes; they are also part centaur, part werewolf, part mandrake, and part sphinx.

And yet-I wonder. Love or hatred calls for self-surrender. He cuts a fine figure, the warm-blooded, prosperous man, solidly entrenched in his well-being, who one fine day surrenders all to love-or to hatred; himself, his house, his land, his memories.

Her eyes strayed toward his ash blond locks, and she hit upon the perfect term immediately. Intensifying her glare, she spit out, “If I had a choice, I would never ask a Yeti like you!” Park felt himself turning red. He couldn’t remember being this mad at a girl. “You’re calling me a fucking Yeti?” Steeling herself not to cower at the guy’s roar, Violet made herself smirk. “The shoe totally fits, don’t you think? White, monstrously ugly, beast-like character—like I said: Yeti,” she said sweetly.

I can only surmise about what Liebling would make of today’s pugilistic dark ages. In his era, fighters fought rematches of close fights, even title fights, almost automatically. Ray Robinson and Jake LaMotta met six times, inconceivable for champions today. In the 1950s a quality pro thought himself underemployed if he had only eight or ten bouts a year, and the amateur scene was thriving. Nowadays pros who make a living from boxing are about as common as Yetis, and amateurs can’t get enough fights to learn the rudiments of the craft.

Her father showed her the Himalayan yeti, the Loch Ness Monster, the Patagonian giant sloth. There was the Irish elk with antles as big as wings. The South African quagga, which started as a zebra until it ran out of stripes and became a horse. The great auk, the lion-tailed monkey, the Queensland tiger. So many incredible extra creatures in the world, and nobody had found a single one of them. "Do you think they're real?" she said. Her father nodded. "I have begun to feel comforted," he said, "by the thought of all we do not know, which is nearly everything.

You can even hunt the Yeti or abominable snowman if you want to, in Nepal. Boris Lissanevitch or Tom Mendies of Nepal will arrange a Yeti hunt for you anytime that you want. Tom has never seen a Yeti track but Boris has seen several and will almost guarantee that you see a track and with any luck will see an abominable snowman. Actually they are more plentiful than generally believed. The main thing is to get up high enough in the mountains. This can be rugged and keeps most hunters from getting one. They are simply an ape-like animal with reddish-brown hair, facts that are well known in the mountains.

Vi! There you are.” Buck worms his way into the group, inadvertently saving us from further interrogation. Well, worm probably isn’t the right word. He’s too large to be able to worm into anything, so he barrels his yeti ass into the group and says hello to Alex’s parents. He even calls them Mr. and Mrs. Waters. Daisy giggles and tells him to call her by her first name. It’s reminiscent of my mom. Then Buck introduces himself to Alex’s little sister. I have yet to be formally introduced to her; the focus having been on Alex sticking his tongue down my throat in widely-publicized pictures. Her name is Sunshine. She goes by Sunny. Sunshine and Daisy. Violet and Skye. I see a theme here. Alex is lucky his name wasn’t Woody, or Bark.

After a week passed it had dawned on me what I was and, more importantly, that I needed to do a little more research before climbing into one of you people. For one, certain religions will make life a living hell for a demon. Exorcisms are obnoxious. I mean, who the hell are these grown men believing in a fucking invisible entity occupying human bodies? To me the concept of a demon should be no different than any other monster myth out there—Yeti, Chupacabra, Robert Pattinson. Disregard for a moment the fact that I happen to exist. No one should believe in me. It’s stupid. There’s as much evidence to support my existence as any other silly legend. And yet, someone decided there should be trained “professionals” dedicated to the holy mission of pissing me off.

People are saying she might go to a Division I school on a basketball scholarship. Isn’t that wonderful for her?” Then Dorothy added, “Of course, I suppose you don’t want to get too excited yet—I know she’s only a sophomore. But very few girls make headlines at fifteen.” It was on the tip of Lila’s tongue to say that Dotty had made a mistake: Clint didn’t have a brother and Lila didn’t have a niece. But Dorothy Harper was at the age where names often got mixed up. She wished the old lady a nice day and drove home.

I’d just settled into bed when Sophie hailed me. Somehow she hurt herself bottling starlight for her Universe assignment. (Always an adventure with this girl!) SYMPTOMS/INJURIES: Major burns with blackish, purplish blisters. Looked super painful. Glad she set aside her fears and hailed me. TREATMENT: I started with my strongest burn salve mixed with painkiller and a Youth soak. But her skin still looked raw, so I ran home for something a little more extreme. (I figured Sophie wouldn’t want to know that her hands were covered in yeti pee, so I left out that detail—but I did warn her to wash her hands thoroughly.) NOTES: I also wrapped up the starlight to make sure she couldn’t hurt herself again. Weird thing was, it felt cold—not hot. And I’ve never seen light like that before—or heard of UPDATE: Sophie stopped by early (I think she didn’t want her friends to see her in the Healing Center again), and her hands looked perfect! But I still gave her one more elixir, just to be safe. ADDITIONAL NOTES: In the category of Proof That Things Keep Getting Weirder Around Here, a couple of Councillors showed up and asked me a billion questions—and made me black out the star’s name from this record. Pretty sure I know what that means.…

I can feel the essence of Will, the space inside myself I created fourteen years ago, a habitat deep in my core where he lives. Sounds creepy, right? Like I’m lowering a bucket full of lotion to him. But hey, it’s my imagination. My brain. My heart. And having grown-up Will make grown-up Mallory a job offer is the closest thing to teen Mallory being asked to the prom by teen Will. It will have to do. Yet–I know I can’t say yes. My career isn’t the issue. Even my bank account, as starved and frail as it is, isn’t the issue. The issue is remarkably simple: I can’t take my personality and turn it back ten to fourteen years. Working for Will Lotham would do that to me.

Sefi and I hand his Wardens our weapons. Muttering under his breath, Sevro hands over his as well. “Did you forget your toothpick?” Wulfgar asks, looking at Sevro’s left boot. “Treasonous yeti,” Sevro mutters, and pulls a wicked blade long as a baby’s body from his boot. The Warden who takes it looks terrified.

For me, it is no longer possible to believe in an organic Bigfoot, Almas, or Yeti. Instead I welcome these creatures to the safe ark of the Phantom Menagerie, where all things are real, provided you define the sort of reality you want. —Tedd Holiday, The Goblin Universe

Keep safe?' said Maggie. 'How are we supposed to keep safe, Nash? We've got a frigging murderer running loose about the hills, there's so much snow out there I keep expecting a Yeti to come hiking through it at any minute, and we've got no internet connection. How do you expect us not to panic?

Avidum genus auricularum.

Makhluk mitologis : unicorn, monster lochness, burung garuda, bigfoot, moby dick, slender man, yeti, sasquatch, chupacabra, orang baik.

me your ruler so I can measure them.” “I don’t have a ruler,” said Judy. “That whole detective kit and no ruler?” “In The Witch Tree Symbol, Nancy Drew used her skirt as a ruler.” “Then give me your skirt.” “Hardee-har-har, Stink.” “No way are these footprints human,” said Frank. “Maybe Mr. Chips got eaten by a bear!” said Rocky. “Or a yeti!” said Stink. “The Abominable Snowman,” said Frank. “Get real,” said Judy. “There are more footprints over here,” said Stink. “These look more like sneakers.

published in 2001, concentrates on tracing our ancestry using the maternally inherited mitochondrial DNA, which also features heavily in The Nature of the Beast. Other books focus on the paternally inherited Y-chromosome and the evolution of sex (Adam’s Curse, 2003), on genealogy and the genetic history of Britain and Ireland (Blood of the Isles, 2006) and America (DNA USA, 2012).

The Nature of the Beast. I have always been curious about other human species,

I continued studying him. Full lips, short beard, hint of gray in his beard. Lots of laugh lines. Could probably use some lotion on his skin. Strong hands. Nails chewed. Bad habit. He wore a v-neck tee-shirt. Chest hair poking out. A ring on his right hand. A thick squarish watch on his left. North Face jacket hanging on the chair behind him. Nice jacket. Nothing about him suggested that I knew him. And yet...I did know him. I was sure of it.

might really exist inspires many people to think about the reliability of eyewitness evidence as a source of information, and to consider seriously how cryptids might make sense as living, breeding, breathing creatures. The Loch Ness monster, the yeti and so

Yet,I don’t believe you can ever hear another person’s story and not get something from it.

Because you never know exactly what you’ll find inside that black box until you open it, there is a temptation to hope—perhaps not quite consciously—that your next race won’t be one of those grinding affairs. This hope is a poor coping skill. Bracing yourself—always expecting your next race to be your hardest yet—is a much more mature and effective way to prepare mentally for competition.

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes re-enacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head-cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

You see, these creatures, these… Bigfoots… as big and as strong as they are… they’re also more intelligent than people. Do you know why?" "Um, no. Why?" asked Carter. "Because they fear God more than they fear man." Said James, his eyes filled with conviction.

Adorned in a cloak of long, matted, dark brown hair that shimmered under the gentle touch of rain, the Sasquatch intimidatingly stood its ground. Its chest and shoulders were reminiscent of a massive barrel, spanning well over four feet in width. Its legs, akin to large and sturdy tree trunks, exuded raw power. The creature's sheer muscularity and appearance were enough to render any man's nerves shaky. And sure enough, Carter felt his stomach queasy and his bladder on the verge of surrender.

But the knocking continued, louder now, insistent. Knock, knock, knock! She turned, heart pounding, and looked towards the trees. There, in the darkness, she saw two sets of gleaming eyes, crimson orbs watching her with an intensity that sent a fresh wave of terror through her body.

Flanked on both sides, the relentless pursuit of the creatures intensified, their rampage tearing through the forest with a destructive force. The deafening cacophony of snapping branches and splintering trees reverberated through the air, echoing like the collision of runaway locomotives, piercing their very souls with terror. During the chaos, Ajax's presence remained steadfast. His strident barks kept reminding the family of his valiant presence as he kept up with the attackers. His resiliency to defend his family-pack resonated throughout the turmoil. God knows what they’ll do to him if they get their… hands on him, now thought Carter, fully admitting to himself that these were indeed Sasquatches—the dreaded Bigfoots of legend.

As he stood at the edge of the forest, his nostrils were suddenly assaulted by an indescribable stench. The smell was like nothing he had ever encountered before—as if the air itself had been tainted by rot and decay. It reminded him of the times he had accidentally left meat out in the sun for too long, except a hundred times worse. His eyes began to water, and his stomach churned with nausea. He doubled over, gripping his stomach tightly as his body heaved uncontrollably. The acrid taste of bile rose up his throat and spilled out of his mouth, landing in a puddle on the ground in front of him. There goes my morning coffee, thought Carter as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and gasped for fresh air.

Michael’s shoulder bumped mine in a casual yet—I was 99 percent sure—purposeful way.