Peter V. Brett - [Demon Cycle 01] - The Warded Man (v) (epub) - dokument Brett Peter V - 01 Malowany człowiek - Księga I wyświetleń, stron. Malowany człowiek. Księga I book. Read 32 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Zaszczuta i zdziesiątkowana ludzkość przeklina noc. Z k. download, download and read The Desert Spear (Demon Cycle, #2) (eBook) by Peter V. Brett today! Top tags on Stnr Library – book review of the desert spear.
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Fokusownia 3. Moderacja 3. Badania etnograficzne: obserwacja i wywiad kontekstowy 3. Obserwacja 3. Wywiad kontekstowy 3. Konstrukcja scenariusza wywiadu kontekstowego 3. Prowadzenie wywiadu kontekstowego 3. Wariacja: wywiad kontekstowy z zadaniami 3. Wariacja: shadowing 3. Analiza 3. Badania dzienniczkowe 3. Wariacja: sonda kulturowa 3. Analiza danych zastanych 3. Warianty analizy danych zastanych 3.
Desk research 3.
Jednostki analizy i klucz kategoryzacyjny 3. Sortowanie kart 3. Rodzaje sortowania kart 3. Analiza sortowania kart 3. Wariacja: sortowanie drzewiaste 3. Przebieg badania 4. Ocena satysfakcji 4. Metoda zaznajamiania 4.
Testy mobilne i w terenie 4. Testy na makietach i na prototypie 4. Wariacja: Test 5 sekund 4. Wariacja: RITE szybki iteracyjny test i ewaluacja 4.
Eyetracking 4. Ograniczenia osobowe i techniczne 4. Patrzenie swobodne vs. Problemy techniczne i analityczne 4. Metryki analizy 4. Zdalne badania ewaluacyjne 4. Moderowane i niemoderowane badania zdalne 4. A New Venue Chapter Hospit Chapter Nightfall Chapter Secrets Chapter In the Predawn Light Chapter Plague Chapter The Battle of Cutter's Hollow Chapter Your advice and encouragement made it possible for me to turn a hobby into something more.
And to my editors, Liz and Emma, who took a chance on a new author and challenged me to exceed even my own high standards. I could never have done it without you.
Arlen paused in his work, looking up at the lavender wash of the dawn sky. Mist still clung to the air, bringing with it a damp, acrid taste that was all too familiar. A quiet dread built in his gut as he waited in the morning stillness, hoping that it had been his imagination. He was eleven years old. There was a pause, and then the horn blew twice in rapid succession.
One long and two short meant south and east. The Cluster by the Woods. His father had friends among the cutters. Behind Arlen, the door to the house opened, and he knew his mother would be there, covering her mouth with both hands.
Arlen returned to his work, not needing to be told to hurry. Some chores could wait a day, but the stock still needed to be fed and the cows milked. He left the animals in the barns and opened the hay stores, slopped the pigs, and ran to fetch a wooden milk bucket.
His mother was already squatting beneath the first of the cows. He snatched the spare stool and they found cadence in their work, the sound of milk striking wood drumming a funeral march.
As they moved to the next pair down the line, Arlen saw his father begin hitching their strongest horse, a five-year-old chestnut-colored mare named Missy, to the cart. His face was grim as he worked. What would they find this time? Before long, they were in the cart, trundling toward the small cluster of houses by the woods.
It was dangerous there, over an hour's run to the nearest warded structure, but the lumber was needed. Arlen's mother, wrapped in her worn shawl, held him tightly as they rode. I'm not scared. They made mock of him enough as it was. She could never fool him, but she always knew what to say just the same. A pillar of greasy smoke told them more than they wanted to know long before they reached their destination.
They were burning the dead. And starting the fires this early, without waiting for others to arrive and pray, meant there were a great many.
Too many to pray over each one, if the work was to be complete before dusk. It was more than five miles from Arlen's father's farm to the Cluster by the Woods. By the time they arrived, the few remaining cabin fires had been put out, though in truth there was little left to burn.
Fifteen houses, all reduced to rubble and ash. He gestured with his chin toward the blackened ruin that remained of a season's cutting. Arlen grimaced at the thought of how the rickety fence that penned the animals would have to last another year, and immediately felt guilty. It was only wood, after all. The town Speaker approached their cart as it pulled up.
Selia, whom Arlen's mother sometimes called Selia the Barren, was a hard woman, tall and thin, with skin like tough leather. Her long gray hair was pulled into a tight bun, and she wore her shawl like a badge of office. She brooked no nonsense, as Arlen had learned more than once at the end of her stick, but today he was comforted by her presence. Like Arlen's father, something about Selia made him feel safe. Though she had never had children of her own, Selia acted as a parent to everyone in Tibbet's Brook.
Few could match her wisdom, and fewer still her stubbornness. When you were on Selia's good side, it felt like the safest place in the world. Even the boy can help. Metal was scarce in the Brook, and his father was proud of his two shovels, his pick, and his saw.
They would all see heavy use this day. Silvy choked and covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.
Jeph spat again. No one had ever run so far and lived. A few others fled the corelings and succored there, until the fires spread and their roof caught. They waited in the burning house until the beams started to crack, and then took their chances outside in the minutes before dawn. The corelings killed Brine's wife Meena and their son Poul, but the others made it. The burns will heal and the children will be all right in time, but the others ,,," She didn't need to finish the sentence.
Survivors of a demon attack had a way of dying soon after. Not all, or even most, but enough.
Some of them took their own lives, and others simply stared blankly, refusing to eat or drink until they wasted away. It was said you did not truly survive an attack until a year and a day had passed. The cutters built their homes mostly out of stone to protect against fire, but even stone would burn if the wards failed and enough flame demons gathered in one place. Jeph joined the other men and a few of the stronger women in clearing the rubble and carting the dead to the pyre.
The bodies had to be burned, of course. No one would want to be buried in the same ground the demons rose out of each night. Tender Harral, the sleeves of his robe rolled up to bare his thick arms, lifted each into the fire himself, muttering prayers and drawing wards in the air as the flames took them. Silvy joined the other women in gathering the younger children and tending to the wounded under the watchful eye of the Brook's Herb Gatherer, Coline Trigg.
But no herbs could ease the pain of the survivors. Brine Cutter, also called Brine Broad-shoulders, was a great bear of a man with a booming laugh who used to throw Arlen into the air when they came to trade for wood. Now Brine sat in the ashes beside his ruined house, slowly knocking his head against the blackened wall.
He muttered to himself and clutched his arms tightly, as if cold. Arlen and the other children were put to work carrying water and sorting through the woodpiles for salvageable lumber.
There were still a few warm months left to the year, but there would not be time to cut enough wood to last the winter. They would be burning dung again this year, and the house would reek. Again Arlen weathered a wave of guilt. He was not in the pyre, nor banging his head in shock, having lost everything.
There were worse fates than a house smelling of dung. More and more villagers arrived as the morning wore on. Bringing their families and whatever provisions they could spare, they came from Fishing Hole and Town Square; they came from the Boggin's Hill, and Soggy Marsh.
Some even came all the way from Southwatch. And one by one, Selia greeted them with the grim news and put them to work. With more than a hundred hands, the men doubled their efforts, half of them continuing to dig as the others descended upon the only salvageable structure left in the Cluster: Brine Cutter's house.
Selia led Brine away, somehow supporting the giant man as he stumbled, while the men cleared the rubble and began hauling new stones. A few took out warding kits and began to paint fresh wards while children made thatch.
The house would be restored by nightfall. Arlen was partnered with Cobie Fisher in hauling wood. The children had amassed a sizable pile, though it was only a fraction of what had been lost. Cobie was a tall, thickly built boy with dark curls and hairy arms. He was popular among the other children, but it was popularity built at others' expense. Few children cared to weather his insults, and fewer still his beatings.