Mariel of Redwall: The Maid From The Sea
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Abbot. Bernard folded his paws deep into the white sleeves of his garb. From a viewpoint on the threshold of Redwall Abbey's West ramparts. He watched the hot midsummer day drawing to a glorious close. Late evening light mellowed the red sandstone abbey walls, turning them to a dusty scarlet across the flatlands. Cloud layers, stripped the horizon, and long billows of purple amber, rose and Sarah's Bernard turned to his old friend Simeon, the blind herbalist. The sun is sinking like the tip of a sugar plum dipping into honey. A perfect summer evening! A simian! The two mice stood silent awhile before Simeon turned his sightless face toward the abbot, Father Abbot. How is it that you see so much? You feel so little? Do you not know? There is a mighty storm coming tonight? The Abbot shook his head, disbelieving, yet unwilling to deny simians unerring instinct. A storm! Surely not! Simeone shied at Abbott. Bernard gently. Perhaps you have other things on your mind, my friend. Maybe you have not felt the cooling breezes die away. The air has become still and hot. The birds stopped their evening song much earlier than usual. Even the grasshoppers and the buzzing bees have ceased with a little noise they make. Listen! The abbot cocked his head on one side, perplexed. I hear nothing. Simeon chuckled dryly. That is because you are hearing the sound of silence. Bernard! One thing I have learned in my life is to listen to the sounds of moss flower country. Every sound carries information. So does every silence. This is going to be a mighty storm, one that we have not seen the like of in many a long season taking simeon by the paw, Albert Bernard led his blind companion down the ramparts steps and across the lawn toward the main abbey building to me and sniffed the air. Mm mm, mm, mm, mm. I smell hot apple pie and raspberry cream pudding and scones fresh from the oven too, with jams and preserves spread on them. Best hurry before the moles get here, or there will be none left! The Abbot quickened his pace. How do you know the molds are coming, Bernard Bernard, Did you ever know Sister Stage to serve raspberry cream pudding and no moles to arrive right again. Simeon! Your powers of observation! Leave me in the shade. Oh, I must tell young Bannon to beat the log alarm. That'll warn anybody still out stores to come in. Simeone grimaced. Oh, dear! Do we have to suffer that noise again! Young Dan is a bit overenthusiastic at beating a hollow log with two clubs. Ever! Bernard smiled reflectively. Yes, he does rather put his heart into it, doesn't he. Still? I wish everyone were as willing in their duties as our dandan. If ever Redwall Abbey gets a bell! I'll be the first to vote him as bellringer. The two mice made their way between the flowerbeds which started the dark greens ward an ominous grumble of thunder muffled it's way over the far horizon to the northwest. Albert Bernard turned in the doorway of the abbey, attempting to conjure up his powers of smell. Mm hmm, cider poured cold from the cast. A simian. The blind herbalists wrinkled his nose wrong. It's pear cordial. The father abbot of all Redwall tried not to look amazed. Even Simeon could not see him. He might sense his avid's expression.