The Centaurs of Sirethiel There were various roads that led up and into the mountain. But some were dead ends and others were misleading pathways that led to nowhere. A few were riddled with dark evil ogres who had long ago declared their allegiance to Gordok. Now they were his dreadful servants and massacred mountain travelers or lead them to horrible hazard. Norbert who was wise knew this and so he guided me to the right path and helped me through the great misty mountain. We climbed up side by side through the twisted path and around the sharp windy mountain trail. The huge sun shone bright before us and our eyes were dazzled. Finally, it widen and seemed too paused suggest the summit, but then went for a ways more. And at last we reached the top and looked down. Far below, swathed in light mist were several springs that fanned out and form a lush meadow. Norbert turned and drew me tightly into his fearsome chest. "I've taken you this far, but I can't go any further. I hope you find what you're looking for." "I do too. Thank you Norbert." I replied and began hiking down into the valley. Once I had reached the bottom I could see that the meadow was …show more content…
They were just like the one that I had seen before. Once I had moved close enough all the centaurs lowered their heads and I distinctly heard, "Hello Aiden welcome to the Kingdom of Sirethiel." I was amazed. Their mouths never moved and yet I could hear them so clearly. "Oral language is not relevant here. Too much meaning is lost while one converts one's thoughts into word. We," he gestured using his mind to the others, "are descendants of the Nab tribe and find that it is much more effective to communicate through thoughts. The only constraint to this form of exchange is that your thoughts must be pure. Please, climb on my back and hold on tight we have much ground to
Alan H. Griffiths, “Centaurs”, Simon Hornblower and Antony Spawforth, 2003, The Oxford Classical Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 309
John Updike’s book, The Centaur, has taken the classical myth of Chiron the minotaur and put it into a different setting in the United States. Instead of Olympus, Greece as the setting, Olinger high school in Pennsylvania is used as a parallel. The setting is just one of the many examples of parallels in John Updike’s book, mainly regarding the characters.
Beowulf is a poem about strength and courage. This is illustrated in the eighth section of the story called “Beowulf and the Dragon.” A slave, a hero and a dragon play a big role in this section. The characters are well developed, as is the setup for the conclusion of the poem.
My life so far has been like a good hiking path. A path that is winding and twisting and encompassed with plenty of beauty. A path that is lined with trees like angels protecting you from the mysteries in the deep forest and that keep you rooted on the path you are destine to take. One that is filled with deep troughs and the most beautiful peaks you could ever image. Sometimes the path is rocky and hurts the soles of your feet until they crack and bleed, but other times it’s covered with a soft green moss that lifts your steps and revives your spirits. Through the last 17 years of my life, I have traveled that path and endured every step. I have gone into the dark abyss of the trough and have found in it the most precious grace of light. As I have gotten older I have come to recognize that the scary and shaky steps of my path have indeed been “fearsome blessings” (Buechner, 92).
By noon they had begun to climb toward the gap in the mountains. Riding up through the lavender or soapweed, under the Animas peaks. The shadow of an eagle that had set forth from the line of riders below and they looked up to mark it where it rode in that brittle blue and faultless void. In the evening they came out to upon a mesa that overlooked all the country to the north... The crumpled butcher paper mountains lay in sharp shadowfold under the long blue dusk and in the middle distance the glazed bed of a dry lake lay shimmering like the mare imbrium. (168)
The way Smaug looked, was based upon many other dragons like Fafnir, and Beowulf’s dragon. Beowulf’s Dragon, a story of an incredibly deadly dragon, had much influence to what Smaug looked like. While the authors are explaining what the Beowulf’s dragon looks like, they say this, “Batlike wings attached to the torso by robust muscles lift the dragon in flight.” (Gerrie McCall & Kieron Connolly 8). When Bilbo enters the dragon's lair, Tolkien explains what the dragon looks like in this quote, “Smaug lay, with wings folded like an immeasurable bat, turned partly on one side…” (Tolkien 87). This shows some similarities, and influence, between these two dragons. Another dragon named Fafnir, also had very similar looks to Smaug, in fact in
Vase 31849 features Herakles’ first labor: that of the killing of the Nemean Lion. It is a black-figure amphora B from 550-500 BC. An Athenian vase, it is currently held on the market in London at the Sotheby’s Art Auction. It has been published in the Sotheby sale catalogue under the code, “10.7.1990, NO.278,” while at the Hesperia Art Auction in New York it was under the code, “27.11.1990, 2, NO.28”, and some photographs are also in the Beazley Archive.
Antoine-Louis Barye, a famous French sculptor, creates a sculpture named Theseus Fighting the Centaur Bianor in 1849. In his sculpture Barye portrays the mythic fight between Theseus, who is considered a hero, and the Centaur Bianor. This fight is described in Book XII of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The sculpture consists of two full-body characters, one in top of the other one. Barye uses bronze as medium. An important characteristic from this sculpture is that the bronze used is a shiny black. The color and medium used in this artwork provide a better contrast between light and shadow. This effect makes us appreciate the emphasis the sculptor put in each one of the characters’ musculature. Even thought, centaurs are mythic creatures Barye creates a realistic full-body portrait of one combining the upper body of a human and the lower body of a horse. The sculptor creates a soft and realistic muscular texture for his characters and also creates the texture of cloth, rock and what appears to be a small bush. Bianor, the centaur, reflects a facial expression of fear because his life is being threatened. Meanwhile, Theseus displays a calmed facial expression and his body language shows us he is in control of the fight. The ground where they are standing suggests this fight is taking place in a mountain. The most notorious principal of design in this artwork is proportion; Theseus has a normal human body and Bianor’s body is proportionally similar to Theseus’ body. This sculpture has
In August 1921, an extraordinary meeting took place between two very different people which would result in a brief and unlikely friendship. For four days at an isolated and picturesque ranch called Canutillo near Rosario in northern Mexico, the infamous Mexican revolutionary leader Francisco "Pancho" Villa played host to an intrepid American newspaper correspondent and playwright named Sophie Treadwell. The resulting article that ran on the front page of the New York Tribune on Sunday, August 28, 1921 entitled "A Visit to Villa, A Bad Man Not So Bad" earned Treadwell international notoriety. Recognized for her expertise on the people and politics of Mexico, she would go on to write a series of articles on the topic of Mexican affairs. At that time Mexico was still reeling from a bloody Revolution that saw the ousting of the progressive but tyrannical regime of Porfirio Diaz and three more successive regimes. Treadwell's sympathetic treatment of Mexican affairs allowed her to access people and information that were unavailable to most. As a result, Sophie Treadwell brought to her readership enhanced understanding of important people and events in Mexico; most notably that of Francisco Villa. That an American woman received so much respect and was able to accomplish so much in a country which at the time was generally resentful of Americans as well as totally male dominated attests to the ambitiousness and cultural sensitivity of this noteworthy writer of fact and fiction.
The air was fresh and chilly. The trail came out of the forest and we joined a logging road and continued our climb. We re-entered the forest and continued to climb...yes we were gaining altitude quickly and soon our hearts were thumping! This was no longer a gentle climb.
The drive to cross the Kentucky border had taken hours and hours of strenuous patience to finally arrive in another state. The view was by far country like as hints of cow manure could be smelled far from a distance. We drive through small towns, half the size of our hometown of Glen Ellyn had been the biggest town we've seen if not smaller. The scenery had overwhelmed us, as lumps of Earth from a great distance turned to perfectly molded hills, but as we got closer and closer to our destination the hills no longer were hills anymore, instead the hills had transformed to massive mountains of various sizes. These mountains surrounded our every view as if we had sunken into a great big deep hole of green pastures. Our path of direction was seen, as the trails of our road that had followed for numerous hours ended up winding up the mountainous mountains in a corkscrew dizzy-like matter.
He went on down the hill, toward the dark woods within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called unceasing - the rapid and urgent beating of the urgent and quiring heart of the late spring night. He did not look
As soon as I entered the park, I went looking for the statue of the little boy that I remembered so well from last summer. I knew it was on the south side of the park, but I was not sure exactly where. As soon as I began my quest, I could faintly smell roses, a smell so familiar from the endless warm summer days that Jordan and I would spend next to the rose garden, in front of the statue. I knew I was getting close. Next, I saw the roses in the distance from where I was, walking towards the stairs that lead to the rose garden. I remembered walking in the same general direction. I was closer.
Any shrubbery that would have grown has been trampled down and all that is left is a very narrow path, overhung with branches from the trees that mark its sides. As I start down the trail, I begin to feel the trees closing around me until the house can no longer be seen. I follow the trail to where it stops at the creek's edge, approaching quietly so as not to disturb any of the wild creatures that has come to enjoy the cool fresh water. I gently cross over the creek using the stones, which show the wear of several previous crossing, so that I can have full view of the creek and the beauty it possesses. I can hear the rush of the water long before I see the falls.
In the distance, the trail along which I had been walking wound through a thick velvet fog. Lining the path were tall trees that stoo...