The following is a couple different points of view. I thought they were very nice but ultimately, it's possible they may be deleted. However, I didn't want to lose them entirely, so I am sharing them with all of you.
As Master Pierson watched her dancing around the ballroom, he felt as if he was slowly letting her go or perhaps it was she who was slipping away. He was the teacher who could watch the fruits of his labor coming to fruition or perhaps he was someone who had picked up a baby bird from the ground, fed and cared for it and now was watching it take its first flight as a strong and healthy . . . hawk. He had to smile at the picture he had just created in his mind; she had been a tiny baby sparrow and she had grown up into a fine strong hunter.
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Francis watched her too. He had always been surprised by the bold young lady who was brave enough to not only dress as a man might with delightfully surprising results, but to have taken up the sword with such skill. He knew very well that she had saved his life that afternoon in the alley, but what he witnessed then, paled in comparison to what he had seen since. It hadn’t been much; just the one event in Toledo and then here in Mayrit, plus some practices, but the depth of her skill had expanded tremendously since those early morning exercises in his courtyard. A learned man might see poetry in the written word, but a fighter saw it in the skilled perfection of the sword; what she did lifted the written word from the page and gave it a life attainable only in the imagination of the innocent.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my wonderful fans. I have a very non-thanksgiving announcement, though. Though I suppose it is something I am thankful for. I have just started my own website. It is a work in progress so I would greatly appreciate any feedback there (or here) (or in an email) (or whatever) (ha) (can I keep doing this?)
http://AnnaLWalls.weebly.com - ANNA'S PASSION
I look forward to your visits. I also hope you have a great Thanksgiving day.
I started this blog to show off some of my writing. I had, and have, no intention of starting to review movies though I may post a few reviews here, those I've done for some of my facebook friends or those I've done as a tradeoff. However, I simply had to say something about this movie and this seemed like a good place to do it. This too is a sample of my writing. I hope I can convey my views without hurting anyone's feelings too much.
THE HAUNTED AIRMAN
I bought this movie, as I'm sure others have and will, because of who is on the cover. Our favorite Twilight vampire, Robert Pattinson. Being a fan of the first two books and the first movie, I'm sure this movie is suddenly booming. I was, however, totally disappointed. Since I've never seen Mr. Pattinson in any live appearances, I can't honestly comment on his acting ability, but in my watchers experience, little that it is, I have discovered that handsome men commonly fall into two categories. They either flaunt and market their looks like Brad Pitt or they are overly shy and would be much more comfortable in a shadowy corner. At this point, I think young Mr. Pattinson falls into this latter category though I haven't really researched the issue.
The movie was appalling. It took place during WWI I believe and Flight Lieutenant Jugg was wounded during a bombing run. I'm thinking this was a very low budget movie because the cast was so small. At any rate, you can't tell which man in the aircraft was Jugg and you can't tell that he got wounded, only that the plane took damage.
The next scene shows Jugg being dropped off at some deserted castle, paralyzed from the waist down. Perhaps such occurrences were common at the time, I can't say, I chalked it up to his paralysis and his need for special care, something he got from an understanding nurse who became somewhat of a confidant. I am aware of fuel rationings at the time so the announcement that the generator would be turned off at seven to save fuel was fine with me.
Jugg had an unnatural fascination with his brother's widow that I found disturbing. Especially as she seemed to return the attention and yet insisted that she remain his aunt and wanted nothing closer - ever. The was supposed to progress and show the young lieutenant's love of his aunt betrayed, and yet I saw little emotion in Mr. Pattinson's performance, perhaps that's why he made such a good vampire. The only window into his troubled mind were the quiet narration of the letters he wrote to his aunt.
Throughout the movie, there were a few psychotic scenes and a lot of nightmares, though the only indication of them was Jugg's inability to sleep and fear of the dark. According to the back, his beloved aunt betrays his trust and yet what does he do? One night, he catches her with his doctor and rather than rile at his lot, or even internalize it as he's done with the rest of his problems, he waylays her and murders her while the doctor looks on.
The doctor, in his own right, was just freaky. He liked spiders and brags about being able to control them to a certain extent. He allows Juggs self induced isolation to continue, fueling it even by not sending his letters or delivering his aunt's. He even tells Jugg that his bombing runs were right and for the good side, though I think this may be a common practice and belief at the time. He even goes so far as to say that Jugg can leave any time he wants and yet the gates are kept closed and locked, not that a wheelchair bound man could go anywhere anyway, not by himself.
It is a theatrical performance that should have died on the stage - then again, I have a strong dislike for theatrical movies. I can hardly stand Dune because of that and I love that movie.
I hope you don't waste your money on this movie. And if I've insulted Mr. Pattinson, I apologize and I welcome his contacting me and setting me straight.
He turned around to see Cepheid standing in the middle of their furs with nothing on.She had lost weight and her ribs were plain to see, but that was not what he was looking at.In fact, he wasn’t too sure what he was looking at.He wasn’t sure of anything except the fact that she was so far away.
He was at her side without quite knowing how he got there. His laces were being unruly, but her warm hands pushed his away and pulled the laces free before he could tear them out of his way. His coat dropped away and his shirt followed soon after. A chill rippled his flesh as she pulled at the lacings to his pants.
If his coat and shirt vanished with astonishing speed, she pushed his pants down slowly, and he melted after them, and found himself suddenly sprawling on the pile of furs that was the soft nest she had made.
She unlaced his boots and tossed them aside, then pulled the pants free of his feet with languid movements that took many detours back up his legs. With hot hands, she rubbed his feet, each of them, slowly and carefully while Canis struggled not to pant. Satisfied, she began to crawl up his frame all too slowly allowing the full length of her body to caress every inch of her path. By the time she found his mouth with hers, he was putty in her hands. He couldn’t have protested if his life had depended on it. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to breathe.
She had curves in all the right places. She was soft in such a fascinating way. She took his hardness and consumed it with her heat. She molded him to her demand. He was lost in the sensation of touch. Their climax shattered his senses.
Somewhere shortly before he fell into a sated sleep, he had a brief thought of how vulnerable they had been. If someone had tried to attack them, it was entirely possible that he would have been utterly unaware until it was far too late. ‘I am here, friend,’ said Ggrrawrr. ‘I watch over you asyou watch overme.’
With a sigh, Canis lost the all too brief battle to stay on the alert. It had been utterly washed away from him. He slept.
Until Canis turned sixteen, nothing more serious happened than a few new births, a few skinned knees and a few youths being greeted into manhood. There were no illnesses, no miscarriages or even births that were more difficult than usual and no deaths in the clan.
Andromeda’s oldest son, Corvus was chosen by Aquarius’ oldest daughter, Carina, who later also chose Cassiopeia’s oldest boy Hydra and the new woman of the clan, Halley, gave birth to a fine strong boy and was happily pregnant again.
This time of relative calm gave Canis the opportunity to settle into clan life in a more normal manner. Canis grew tall and strong with powerful wide shoulders and strong arms, narrow hips and long legs. He no longer appeared years younger than his actual age. His human heritage gave him longer bones and heavier muscles; it also gave him his face, as he never developed the profile of a clan male.
Though all of the girls let their eyes linger on him when he passed, none of them detained him more than social interaction demanded. Unbeknownst to him, Nike had made it known from the first that she had her designs on him and Canis had made no secret of the fact that he intended to leave one day.
This time of happiness and peace couldn’t go on forever. The winter of Canis’s sixteenth year was a year of heavy snowfalls and avalanches. Not a week went by, but what another snowstorm brought several more feet of new snow. Hunting became almost impossible and the hunters were forced to range far in search of meat. Despite the help of their four footed citizens, they didn’t always return successful.
Canis and his usual hunting partners, Leo and Eridanus were no exception, though they seemed to have better luck than most. It seemed that Canis had a good instinct when it came to finding game, but even someone with good luck can have a bad day. They were on a hunt five hard days from home, when they were caught in an avalanche. Canis had scant minutes to sound the alarm and it was almost enough. Both Leo and Eridanus were able to make it free of the crashing snow. Most of the wolves made it out of danger too. Canis wasn’t so lucky. Though he wasn’t caught in the direct flow, a flying clod of snow hit him in the head and knocked him off the trail, launching him into the ravine being filled with packed snow.
Two of the eight wolves that hunted with them were also lost in the crushing snow. Rrusharr, who was closest to Canis at the time he was struck, was knocked off the ledge with him, but sustained little more than a few bruises.
When Leo and Eridanus found Canis, he was piled face down at the bottom of one of the giant trees that was out of the avalanche’s reach; he was also bleeding. A cursory examination revealed three puncture wounds in his back, one high in his right shoulder and one low near his right hip. The third one, deep in his left ribcage, still had the broken branch in it. There was also a nasty cut in the center of a fist-sized lump on the left side of his head and a growing black eye.
Despite their grim findings, Canis was still breathing.
“Go see if you can find a sled, Leo,” said Eridanus. “We need to get him back home as fast as we can.”
With the wolves’ help, the eighteen year old youth was able to find the sleds, but the first two had been smashed or broken and useless, the third was also broken, but intact enough that it could be used.
While Leo searched, Canis woke up and coughed, something, he discovered, he shouldn’t have done, as the pain from that shallow cough robbed him of the ability to breathe at all for seconds.
“Take it easy, Canis,” said Eridanus. “Leo found a sled. He’ll be back here in a few minutes.”
Canis, still sprawled face down in the snow, clutched at it as the pain washed over him. As the tension increased, the amount of pain also increased. When he started to tremble, he finally fainted.
They loaded him on the sled and tied him the best that they could. It was impossible to make him more comfortable. They had no warm pelt to wrap him in and he was forced to ride mostly on his belly, plus sleds are far from comfortable to begin with, made much more so when the rider is already in pain.
Canis drifted in and out of consciousness for the duration of the first day of their trek, but seemed to stabilize somewhat after that. Each bump was agony and he sought the quiet of unconsciousness as often as possible, but with the tracker’s instinct running strong in his blood, not even that distracted him from keeping track of where he was, especially when he had a constant feed of sights, sounds and scents from five different points.
Leo and Eridanus toiled away day and night. They took turns pulling the sled without stopping longer than it took to pass around the water skin, then fill it again with snow. There was nothing to stop for, their provisions had been lost with the sleds and Canis needed to be taken home as soon as possible. Even though there was nothing that resembled a healer there, neither of them would have done any less. No one wanted to die out in the wilderness.
They were cutting across the terrain in search of their original trail and Canis was aware of this. He also knew that he had led them on a twisted route in search of the elusive game. “Head right,” whispered Canis for the wolves to hear; he would do what he could to shorten their trek. It took his mind off the pain.
This change of course and its source got back to the Leo and Eridanus through their companions and they stopped to check on him.
“Did you tell the wolves to change course?” asked Leo.
With a white knuckled grip on the edge of the sled, Canis opened what he could of his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered then closed his eyes as he fought down the urge to cough. His lips were already lined with blood.
“Are you sure we should turn? How could you know where we are?” asked Leo.
Canis cocked half a smile. “Have I ever . . . led you wrong?” he whispered then struggled not to writhe as a jab of pain lanced through his body.
“No,” said Leo, “no, you never have.”
After giving Canis another sip of water, they headed out again on the new course. For the rest of their trip, Canis occasionally requested small course adjustments and in the end, he managed to cut an entire day off their trek. Unfortunately, Canis had succumbed to blood loss and cold and he wasn’t aware of their successful return to the stockade or how much time he had saved them.
