Storytelling
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
two streaks of black and white sped away across the turf and up towards the clouds. They heard it, the storm jostling and rumbling and screaming. It rolled off the hills and toward the mountains, where there were deep canyons that could pen it out of breath, glowing with triumph, Tiffany watched until the dogs came back and settled once again on the turf. And then she remembered it didn't matter what orders she gave those dogs. They were not her dogs. They were working dogs. Thunder and lightning didn't take orders from a little girl, and the dogs weren't looking at her. They were looking just behind her. She'd have turned if someone had told her a horrible monster was behind her. Should have turned if they'd said it had 1000 teeth. She didn't want to turn around. Now forcing herself was the hardest things you've ever done. She was not afraid of what she might see. She was afraid of what she might not see. She shut her eyes while her cowardly boots shuffled her around, and then, after a deep breath, she opened them again. There was a gust of jolly sailor tobacco and sheep and turpentine sparkling in the dark, light glittering off the white shepherdess dress on every blue ribbon and silver buckle of it was Granny aching, smiling, hugely, radiant with pride. She operated slowly, and Tiffany saw that while she was a brilliant sparkling shepherdess from hat to him, she still had her huge old boots on Granny aching, took her pipe out of her mouth and gave Tiffany the little nod that wass from her a round of applause, something she wasn't.