Résultats lu par "Ryan J. Southworth" dans Toutes les catégories

Ceylon was a child, very much like yourself. Well, perhaps not so very much. Unless you are orphaned and homeless and often alone; unless you’ve wandered from jungle to forest and joined up with a traveling merchant caravan; unless you stand no taller than my kneecap and have skin that smells like the bark of a cinnamon tree, you are not so very much like Ceylon. He was a treeborn, and if you saw him you would think, “My, isn’t he a gangly little fellow! All arms and legs like branches on a tree. But oh! He does smell lovely, doesn’t he? Like Christmas.

Mapaline was a child, very much like yourself. Well, perhaps not so very much. Unless you live in a deep, vast wilderness of forests and rivers and streams; unless you sleep in a small room, hung high up in the limbs of an old maple tree; unless you stand no taller than my kneecap and have hair that changes with the seasons, you are not so very much like Mapaline. She was a treeborn, and if you saw her you would think, “Isn’t she a pretty little girl. But . . . somehow—”and you would feel silly saying it—”somehow she makes me think of a tree. Not very much, but still . . .”