Wolf Song

She’d been making an effort at reconnecting with a few of her friends from Northwestern. A few months ago one of them had shared a link to a self-proclaimed Mongolian folk metal band. They called themselves the Hu. They played modified traditional Mongolian instruments in addition to those more commonly found in rock bands. They also used a type of throat singing in which a single singer produced more than one note at the same time.

They sounded exactly like what she’d have expected musicians from Genghis Khan’s troops to sound like if they’d been given the power of modern instruments. She loved it.

She’d shared their music with Charles, he’d listened to a couple of songs, nodded his head—and she’d thought that had been that. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

He began, as the original song did, with the flute, switching seamlessly to the viola, which he used to mimic the traditional horsehead fiddle. When he sang, he used the throat-singing technique—in, as far as she could tell, the original Mongolian.

It was a gift. He’d done a great deal of work—and he was a busy man—to prepare this song for her. For a quiet man, Charles was very good at saying “I love you.”

When the song drew to an end, Anna, flushed with enjoyment and pleasure, applauded enthusiastically. “Holy cow. Just wow. I didn’t know you speak Mongolian. You are full of surprises.”

He put the viola away and gave her a lighthearted grin that lit up his face. “I just mimic. Doubtless my song would leave anyone who actually spoke Mongolian scratching their head. And I don’t have the throat singing down right. There’s a vibration technique I haven’t figured out yet. I had to do that on the viola.”

Anna hung her guitar up, shaking her head with mock reproof. “That’s it. You might as well give up music altogether and go live on the top of a mountain, where you can wallow in your shame.”

This was my introduction to The Hu. Oddly enough, I watched Mongol: The Rise of Genghis Khan long before I read this book. Of all their songs, “Wolf Totem” is still my favorite.

“That is no longer coffee” is SO completely the point!

“Hey. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be so I held off on the coffee. I also needed a couple minutes to figure out your fancy machine.”

She walked to the fancy machine as she spoke, placed one of his oversize mugs. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring it out.”

Still blurry, he did as he was told while the machine whirred and finally that life-giving scent hit the air.

She brought out mugs—one no more than two-thirds full. When she set the other in front of him, he lifted it, inhaled the first dose straight into his brain.

“You drink it black. I’m always amazed at people who drink black coffee. I don’t actually like coffee.”

As he watched, she flooded her mug with milk, showered it with one, two, dear God, three spoonfuls of sugar.

“That is no longer coffee.”

“Exactly. But it still has that punch I go for in the morning.”

Aside: Did anyone else read this book and end up eating nearly an entire box of Swiss Rolls?

My sentiments exactly!

The inventor of single-serve coffee machines was a god. They should be sainted at the very least. Just think of how many people they had saved from going postal by their almost instant cups of coffee bean ambrosia.
Operation Foxtrot by Stormy Glenn

I don’t drink coffee that often, but when I’m that desperate….

Bridgerton Pall Mall and the Mallet of Death

“Miss Sheffield!” came Colin’s impatient holler from up the hill. “It’s your turn!”

“So it is,” Kate said, analyzing her possible shots. She could aim for the next wicket or she could attempt to sabotage Anthony even further. Unfortunately, his ball wasn’t touching hers, so she couldn’t attempt the foot-on-the-ball maneuver he’d used on her earlier in the game. Which was probably for the best. With her luck, she’d end up missing the ball entirely and instead breaking her foot.

“Decisions, decisions,” she murmured.

Anthony crossed his arms. ‘The only way you’re going to ruin my game is to ruin yours as well.”

“True,” she acceded. If she wanted to send him into oblivion, she’d have to send herself there as well, since she’d have to hit hers with all she was worth just to get his to move. And since she couldn’t hold hers in place, heaven only knew where she’d end up.

“But,” she said, looking up at him and smiling innocently, “I really have no chance of winning the game, anyway.”

“You could come in second or third,” he tried.

She shook her head. “Unlikely, don’t you think? I’m so far behind as it is, and we are nearing the end of play.”

“You don’t want to do this, Miss Sheffield,” he warned.

“Oh,” she said with great feeling, “I do. I really, really do.” And then, with quite the most evil grin her lips had ever formed, she drew back her mallet and smacked her ball with every ounce of every single emotion within her. It knocked into his with stunning force, sending it hurtling even farther down the hill.

Farther…

Farther.

Right into the lake.

Openmouthed with delight, Kate just stared for a moment as the pink ball sank into the lake. Then something rose up within her, some strange and primitive emotion, and before she knew what she was about, she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!”

“You don’t win,” Anthony snapped.

“Oh, it feels like I’ve won,” she reveled.

Colin and Daphne, who had come dashing down the hill, skidded to a halt before them. “Well done, Miss Sheffield!” Colin exclaimed. “I knew you were worthy of the mallet of death.”

“Brilliant,” Daphne agreed. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Anthony, of course, had no choice but to cross his arms and scowl mightily.

Colin gave her a congenial pat on the back. “Are you certain you’re not a Bridgerton in disguise? You have truly lived up to the spirit of the game.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Kate said graciously. “If you hadn’t hit his ball down the hill…”

“I had been hoping you would pick up the reins of his destruction,” Colin said.

The duke finally approached, Edwina at his side. “A rather stunning conclusion to the game,” he commented.

“It’s not over yet,” Daphne said.

Her husband gave her a faintly amused glance. ‘To continue the play now seems rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

Surprisingly, even Colin agreed. “I certainly can’t imagine anything topping it.”

Kate beamed.

The duke glanced up at the sky. “Furthermore, it’s starting to cloud over. I want to get Daphne in before it starts to rain. Delicate condition and all, you know.”

Kate looked in surprise at Daphne, who had started to blush. She didn’t look the least bit pregnant.

“Very well,” Colin said. “I move we end the game and declare Miss Sheffield the winner.”

“I was two wickets behind the rest of you,” Kate demurred.

“Nevertheless,” Colin said, “any true aficionado of Bridgerton Pall Mall understands that sending Anthony into the lake is far more important than actually sending one’s ball through all the wickets. Which makes you our winner, Miss Sheffield.” He looked about, then straight at Anthony. “Does anyone disagree?”

No one did, although Anthony looked close to violence.

“Excellent,” Colin said. “In that case, Miss Sheffield is our winner, and Anthony, you are our loser.”
The Viscount Who Loved Me by Julia Quinn

A Star is Born

First, there were the Psychlo workers racing out to leave the platform clear for the incoming semiannual from Earth. There were flatbeds lined up to receive coffins and personnel.

There was the first shimmer of arrival of the Psychlos Jonnie and Windsplitter had knocked down.

Then a small puff.

There were the Psychlo workmen flinching back.

A force screen had gone on! A dome over the platform had closed instantly to contain that small explosion. It could not have been an atmosphere-armor cable. Some sort of shimmering, sparkling screen. Transparent but very much there.

Trucks had time to start up before anything else occurred. One huge emergency truck had lunged nearer the platform, evidently to handle the minor blast. A whole minute went by.

Then the first lethal coffin exploded! A big “planet buster” nuclear bomb, nestled into a bed of dirty mines.

The force screen held.

The holocaust was contained. The boiling, ferocious blast had not even bulged the screen.

Then another shock as the second coffined “planet buster” went off.

The screen held! Good Lord, what technology to build a screen like that. What power it must take to hold it.

Another shock inside that dome. The third planet buster. It and all its ancient, very dirty atomic bombs.

The screen held.

Psychlos were racing toward it from far off. Those near the platform were flattened by concussion transmitting through the screen.

The fourth contained bomb went off.

The screen still held.

But the transmitted concussion had hurled the emergency truck backward. Nearby buildings lost their glass.

The ground was shaking as though hit by gigantic earthquakes.

A nearby building suddenly dropped downward as though sucked from below. Other buildings began to go the same way.

The fifth bomb went off!

And seen in slow motion, first narrowly, then more broadly, the entire scene went into a churning, boiling mass of atomic fire.

No, something more! Molten, flaming fire was erupting in spots all over the plain.

They widened the angle quickly.

The whole Imperial City of Psychlo was sinking and all about it sprayed up rolling oceans of molten fire.

The circular trams, the mobs, the buildings, and even the towering cliffs were drowning in a tumult of liquid, yellow green flame.

They hastily widened the view.

And they saw the entire planet of Psychlo turn into a radioactive sun!
Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 by L. Ron Hubbard

Foreshadowing?

One measly coma and the world turns upside down. Silver Mercant with a bear. What the hell am I going to find out next? That Psy Councilor Nikita Duncan has fallen madly in love and eloped?
Ocean Light by Nalini Singh

How about Abominably Adorable?

Valentin was a “big, deranged grizzly,” while Stasya was an “intelligent and thoughtful panda.”

That description had come from his second-eldest sister, Nova. Forget that he, Stasya, Nova, and Nika—his third-eldest sister—were all Kamchatka brown bears, and pandas were so “thoughtful” they often took an hour to reply to a question. Apparently it was a metaphor. At least Nova hadn’t called him an actual snearzhnyi chelovek. An alpha had to have some standards—his included not being called a yeti.

Or a wolf.

His impolitic nature was the reason why it had taken him so long to meet Silver. He’d just never gone to any Moscow meetings. Now, he went to every one where he knew she would be present. Stasya had thrown up her hands when he dug in his feet on the matter—then she’d given him duct tape. To put over his mouth whenever he felt like being his “lumbering beary self.” End quote.

Valentin didn’t lumber. Not unless he’d downed a few beers.

And none of those thoughts were keeping his mind off the woman in the room beyond the closed door.
Silver Silence by Nalini Singh

Dragon Logic

The next few days passed most agreeably for the three, starting with Ruth’s assurances about the Harper’s continued improvement. The first morning, noticing that Stupid had cropped all the ground greens in the area, Piemur asked if there was any grassland nearby. So Jaxon and Piemur flew Ruth to the river meadows that lay south and east of the cove, a good hour’s flying inland. Ruth willingly helped harvest the tall waving grain grasses which Piemur pronounced fine fodder that might even put poor Stupid into condition. Ruth told Jaxom that he’d ever seen such a hungry-looking runner.

“We’re not fattening him up for you,” Jaxom said, laughing.

He is Piemur’s friend. Piemur is my friend. I do not eat the friends of friends.
The White Dragon by Anne McCaffrey

Avery and Anna

    “I fell in love with you,” he said, “and married you. And suddenly I was filled to the brim and to the innermost depths with love. Love of you and love of everyone and everything. But then I doubted and I stumbled. I doubted the power of love and happiness to last. I doubted your feelings; I doubted my worthiness to be loved. And then and at last it occurred to me that I had to bring you here, that I had to bring you fully and completely into myself and trust that you would not simply laugh or–worse–not understand at all. Oh, you cannot know how vulnerable I am still feeling, Anna, mouthing such absurdities. But if I do not say them now I never will and I may have lost the missing part of myself forever.”

“But you are always mouthing absurdities,” she said.

Someone to Love by Mary Balogh, p. 297