“In the mêlée at Bitterbridge she had sought out her suitors and battered them one by one, Farrow and Ambrose and Bushy, Mark Mullendore and Raymond Nayland and Will the Stork. She had ridden over Harry Sawyer and broken Robin Potter’s helm, giving him a nasty scar. And when the last of them had fallen, the Mother had delivered Connington to her. This time Ser Ronnet held a sword and not a rose. Every blow she dealt him was sweeter than a kiss. Loras Tyrell had been the last to face her wroth that day. He’d never courted her, had hardly looked at her at all, but he bore three golden roses on his shield that day, and Brienne hated roses. The sight of them had given her a furious strength.”—Brienne of Tarth, A Feast for Crows (via kaorym)
A bell rings. From his hand, maybe. Then he takes a small step. Then there’s that bell again.
It will take him a long time to make it from this bit of grass to whatever there is beyond it. An entire lifetime it will take him. And even then, he will die unfinished. Undone in midst of doing, having gone slowly to nowhere much.
Then a bell will ring. From his hand, maybe. Or from somewhere else.
Good news, listeners! The telephone service has finally fixed the telephone booth behind the Taco Bell! The telephone that was always ringing and never had a dial tone? You know the one. When you picked it up it clicked, and hissed, and sometimes played notes that seemed to come from a music box. You did not recognize the tune, but, it was familiar, as if from another time and place.
Since no one uses telephone booths anymore, I’m not entirely sure why they did this, but the telephone booth is working!