(no subject)
Rereading one of my favorite Harry Potter fics ever (Stealing Harry by copperbadge). No one will care about this but me, but I've been eating junk all day an I figure writing is a better than eating another giant muffin (I've already had two today).
ANYWAY, an excerpt...
"What does it mean?" Remus asked, reaching out to trail his fingers through the white light, curiously. His amber light spread through the white for a second before fading. "Rhos Y Beddau..."
"Moor," Dumbledore translated calmly. "Moor of the Graves."
"Ill-omened," Sirius muttered. He opened his mouth to ask what Betwys Beddau meant, since it wasn't likely to be much better, when they crested a low rise at the end of the avenue, and the distant white glow was suddnely visible -- and spectacular.
It looked like a night sky, Sirius decided; spread below them was another hill-ringed valley, larger than Rhos Y Beddau, containing a small village laid out in the old medieval plan, with a spired church at its centre, shadowy against the sky. White columns ringed the village in a perfect circle that must be miles across, and within the circle, among the houses and shops, the streets and gardens, rose strange, intangible constellations of light.
"This is Betwys Beddau," Dumbledore said softly. "Known to its founders as the Temple of the Graves."
... And not for the first time, I wish I could see into the authors' heads and see it as they meant it to be seen. The written word is awesome at capturing feelings, but amazing sights prove a bit more challenging and I know that my brain can't possibly be doing it justice. Because that? That sounds awesome. It always sounds awesome. So awesome that I just can't comprehend the visual awesomeness and I wish I could.
Okay, I'll stop babbling now. And drink a chai latte in hopes of fighting off the Great Muffin Craving a bit longer.
ANYWAY, an excerpt...
"What does it mean?" Remus asked, reaching out to trail his fingers through the white light, curiously. His amber light spread through the white for a second before fading. "Rhos Y Beddau..."
"Moor," Dumbledore translated calmly. "Moor of the Graves."
"Ill-omened," Sirius muttered. He opened his mouth to ask what Betwys Beddau meant, since it wasn't likely to be much better, when they crested a low rise at the end of the avenue, and the distant white glow was suddnely visible -- and spectacular.
It looked like a night sky, Sirius decided; spread below them was another hill-ringed valley, larger than Rhos Y Beddau, containing a small village laid out in the old medieval plan, with a spired church at its centre, shadowy against the sky. White columns ringed the village in a perfect circle that must be miles across, and within the circle, among the houses and shops, the streets and gardens, rose strange, intangible constellations of light.
"This is Betwys Beddau," Dumbledore said softly. "Known to its founders as the Temple of the Graves."
... And not for the first time, I wish I could see into the authors' heads and see it as they meant it to be seen. The written word is awesome at capturing feelings, but amazing sights prove a bit more challenging and I know that my brain can't possibly be doing it justice. Because that? That sounds awesome. It always sounds awesome. So awesome that I just can't comprehend the visual awesomeness and I wish I could.
Okay, I'll stop babbling now. And drink a chai latte in hopes of fighting off the Great Muffin Craving a bit longer.