Dawn Treader Valley Άσε για μια στιγμή να 'χουν τα χείλη άλλη επαφή για λίγο

Euryalos inclined his head in thanks. His eyes drifted again, back to the mingled together forms of the pronghorns. To the calves, stumbling helplessly after their mothers.

Silence stretched into infinity, before he looked to Andromache again.

In this new world you build. His voice was low and raspy with the dust he had inhaled, and how little time he spent speaking.

Will you treat it as my master did, I wonder? Full of things to dominate. He looked away from her, but he listened just as much as he watched the pronghorn, waiting for a stutter of breath, a gasp, anything to indicate which way she would sway.