A war band with captured slaves has camped on a frozen river, with fires on log frameworks, for distance from the forest.
Sight: the fires are "...dim red glows through the snow." (Chapter 12, p. 165)
Sensation: very cold air.
Smell: pine, smoke, dung, grilling sausages.
Sound: shouts, stampings, roaring wind, lowing cattle, kicks, curses, blows.
Taste: by implication, the sausages.
I am glad that I am not there.
1 comment:
Kaor, Paul!
Very Andersonian, this use of multiple senses by Stirling on a single page. I can't help but remember how FLAT Asimov's writing was, compared to Anderson and Stirling's works.
Sean
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