They didn't seem quite so ready to bolt as before. The nearest one dropped to its belly and looked up at her. Very cute and helpless, if you didn't see the claws. "My name is --" Johanna heard a short burst of gobble with an overtone that seemed to buzz right through her head. "What is your name?" Johanna knew it was all part of the language script. There was no way the creature could understand the individual words it was saying. That "my name, your name" pair was repeated over and over again between the children in the language program. A vegetable would get the point eventually. Still, the Tines pronunciation was so perfect.... "My name is Johanna," she said. "Zjohanna," said the pack,
复件 (69) air max1, with Johanna's voice, and splitting the word stream incorrectly. "Johanna,
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复件 (3) air max2," corrected Johanna. She wasn't even going to try saying the Tines name. "Hello, Johanna. Let's play the naming game!" And that was from the script too, complete with silly enthusiasm. Johanna sat down. Sure,
复件 (83) air max, learning Samnorsk would give the Tines power over her ... but it was the only way she could learn about them, the only way she could learn about Jefri. And if they had murdered Jefri, too? Well then,
复件 (6) air max2, she would learn to hurt them as much as they deserved. .Delete this paragraph to shift page flush CHAPTER 13 At Woodcarvers and then -- a few days later -- at Flenser's Hidden Island, the long daylight of arctic summer ended. At first there was a little twilight just around midnight, when even the highest hill stood in shadow. And then the hours of dark grew quickly. Day fought night, and night was winning. The featherleaf in the low valleys changed to autumn colors. Looking up a fjord in daylight was to see orange red on the lower hills, then the green of heather merging imperceptibly to the grays of lichen and the darker grays of ########## rock. The snowpatches waited for their time; it would come soon. At every sunset, each day a few minutes earlier, Tyrathect toured the ramparts of Flenser's outer wall. It was a three-mile walk. The lower levels were guarded by linear packs, but up here there were only a few lookouts. When she approached, they stepped aside with military precision. More than military precision; she saw the fear in their look. It was hard to get used to that. For almost as far back as she had clear memories -- twenty years -- Tyrathect had lived in fear of others, in shame and guilt, in search of someone to follow. Now all that was turned on its head. It was not an improvement. She knew now, from the inside, the evil she had given herself to. She knew why the sentries feared her. To them, she was Flenser. Of course,
复件 (3) air max, she never gave any hint of these thoughts. Her life was only as safe as the success of her fraud. Tyrathect had worked hard to suppress her natural, shy mannerisms. Not once since coming to Hidden Island had she caught herself in the old bashful habit of heads lowering, eyes closing. Instead, Tyrathect had the Flenser stare -- and she used it. Her passage around the top wall was as stark and ominous as Flenser's had ever been. She looked out over her -- his -- domain with the same hard gaze as before, all heads front, as if seeing visions beyond the petty minds of the disciples. They must never guess her real reason for these sunset sweeps: for a time, the days and nights were like in the Republic. She could almost imagine she was still back there, before the Movement and the massacre at Parliament Bowl, before they cut her throats and wed pieces of Flenser to the stumps of her soul.
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