Season of Storms (The Witcher, #8)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

singled

unquenched

craning

appeased

vigilosaur

nimbly

bellowing

leaping

Hopping uncoordinatedly,

reek of musk

beaming,

whim,

err,”

parsimonious.

Dumbfounding

heed,

timber, reeds and straw;

hooves

cloister.

befitting

snide

acerbities

The most certain method of preventing wars is to have a terrible weapon as a deterrent: the more terrible it is, the more enduring and certain the peace.

He, Ortolan, would give humanity the benefit of peace, even if it would first be necessary to destroy half of it.

Which was why he knew that declarations about their safety could be classified along with such statements as: “my little dog doesn’t bite,” “my son’s a good boy,” “this stew’s fresh,” “I’ll give you the money back the day after tomorrow at the latest,” “he was only getting something out of my eye,” “the good of the fatherland comes before everything,” and “just answer a few questions and you’re free to go.”

Anxiety is never irrational, Geralt thought to himself. Aside from psychological disturbances. It was one of the first things novice witchers were taught. It’s good to feel fear. If you feel fear it means there’s something to be feared, so be vigilant. Fear doesn’t have to be overcome. Just don’t yield to it. And you can learn from it.

is like nature and abhors a vacuum.

oakum.

ephebe.

silt

Fen

botched

beret,

trundled

unkempt.

“‘A story is a largely false account, of largely trivial events, fed to us by historians who are largely idiots,’” smiled the Witcher.

plastered

therianthropes,

starboard

doolally,

temples.

scrumping

tupelos

muzzle.

shrift

tantamount

angling.

wafting

enlivened

It was as you said: what you used to be means more to people than what you are.