Quotes About Nature

I love to feel the sun rub against my pale northern skin, love its fingers reaching down into muscle and bone.

I could feel the open air, taste salt on the breeze.

All the things that make you you, your clarity and solidity and certainty, come from this. You can actually reach out and touch your past. It's in the wood, in the cold, clear water of the fjord and the hard rock of the mountain. And the wood and the fjord and the mountain are in you, clear and strong and massive." She looked at me then, reached out to trace the line of my cheekbone, my nose, my jaw. "Aud, Aud, Aud.

For now that they sat close Peretur understood that the cool depths she had dreamt of lived as much in this woman as in the lake.

Now he understood why her hounds spoke of her as they did: not human, more like a wall, a tide, the waxing of the moon. A force of nature. Implacable, untouchable.

The dogwood blossom was gone, azaleas in full bloom, and the air cupped my cheek as softly as a woman's hand.

The flesh is nearly burnt from your bones and the human from your heart. You're nothing but wyrd and ælf breath. Spend less time in the wind.

We're like the moths," Begu said. "The priests and Uinniau and Cian are like bats. When we go back to York, we'll have to stop, lie down, for a while.

Hild was glad to escape the responsibilities she didn't quite understand and roam the moor.

She walked in the evening through her domaine, as aware of it as if her own body.

In the wild waste, a girl, growing.

The air was humid, so thick with moisture that she felt it like spider-webs across her face and kept wanting to hush it away, wipe it from her skin.

One afternoon when the winter was done and the world had begun to turn towards the light, with green shoots thrusting through the dark earth, the girl roamed the high fell in the steeper, northern part of the valley.

She didn't like the princely Boldcloak much. She missed her Cian. Missed the Cian she might have told of misjudging bandits and what eagles saw.

Peretur rode now through lands abandoned by people and sharp with the scent of vinegar where apples, unpicked, had fallen and rotted in the grass.

She laid her hand, brief and light as a drift of hawthorn blossom, on Hild's head.

Was it her true nature to take from others her own power?

Hild, on the first boat with Eorpald and Edwin, smelt it before she saw it: the old, cold scent of deep, turned dirt; the smell of bones.

She had dreamt of eagles, she said, like to the eagles of Gwynedd, nesting over Lindum, with one eagle pushing its brother from the nest.

They are noisy; their untidy feet snap twigs and kick stones without heed for what might hear.

Lying naked and cold beneath the perfect, whispering dark, I imagined I could feel the curve of the earth under my back, that I circled the whole planet so that my soles touched the top of my head and I blended with the dirt.

Galloping over the Yorkshire moors, wild as a lynx, with Christie Horley. Another life I had left.

This was the world I belonged to now, this one, where when a living thing died it fed others, where the scents were of mouse drops and sap, not exhaust fumes and cordite, and the air hummed with insects rather than screams and the roar of flame.

Wolf eyes," she whispered, and I could feel her breath on my throat, "so pale and hungry.