Lameece Issaq Audiobook Reel
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
Arabic (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC) North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Lamis a sack. The girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelley Barnhill Zan turned her back on the swamp and followed the trail of the slope toward the crater where the volcano had opened its face to the sky so long ago. It had been years since Zan last walked this trail. Centuries. Really? She shivered. Everything looked so different and yet not there had been a circle of stones in the courtyard of the castle. Once upon a time, they had surrounded the central older tower like sentinels, and the castle had wrapped around the whole of it like a snake eating its tail. But the tower was gone. Now those an had no idea where, and the castle was rubble and the stones had been toppled by the volcano or swallowed up by the earthquake or crumbled by fire and water and time. Now there was only one, and it was difficult to find. Tall grass is surrounded it like a thick curtain, and ivy clung to its face. Zan spent well over half a day just trying to find it. When she got down to the stone itself, she was disappointed. There were words carved into the flat of the stone, a simple message on each side. Zuma's himself had carved it long ago. He had carved it for her when she was still a child. Don't forget, it said on one side of the stone. I mean it. It said on the other. Don't forget what you mean what Zuma's. She wasn't sure. She approached the stone and leaned her forehead against the deeply carved words, as if the stone might be Zaza Mus himself. Oh, see asthma's, she said, feeling a surge of emotion that she hadn't felt in nearly five centuries. I'm sorry. I've for gotten I didn't mean to. But the surge of magic hit her like a falling boulder. Knocking her backward, she stared at the stone open mouth. The stone is and magic, too, she thought to herself, of course. And in a flash, Zan remembered that day, she was 13 years old and terribly impressed with her own witchy cleverness. She remembered house as Emma's, hid the castle within each stone in the circle. Each stone was a door, same castle, different doors. Don't forget I mean it, I won't forget, she said. At 13 you will surely forget Zen have you not met yourself now, If you don't mind, My dear, I have treasured knowing you and lamented knowing you and found myself laughing in spite of myself. Each day we were together. But that is all past now, and you and I must part. I have many thousands of people to protect from that blasted volcano, and I do hope you'll make sure they are ever so thankful, won't you, dear? And he and the simply enormous dragon disappeared into the smoke and plunged themselves into the heart of the mountain, stopping the eruption, forcing the volcano into a restless sleep butterfly by Yusra Mardini. The men punched their fists into the air and chant into the camera. Flags burn and crowd scattered. A smoke rises from buildings. In the past weeks, we've sat through revolutions in Tunisia and Egypt. Now Libya. I don't know why, but Libya feels different somehow, closer to home, I think it's kind of cool, says Sarah, quietly scary. But could Dad shoots her a look? Are you crazy? He says. This would never happen here, Understand? There's no way anything like this can happen in Syria. Syria is stable and sensible, he tells us the people are calm and quiet. They won't make any problems. Everyone has a job. Life is good. We're working, happy, getting on with our lives. That gestures at the protesters on the screen. Not like these people, he says. Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi is now on screen. He's wearing a light brown robe and a matching turban and is giving a speech on Libyan state TV, stirring his supporters to defeat the uprising in his country. I am calling on the millions from one end of the desert to the other, says Gadhafi, waving his arms wildly. And we will march in our millions and purify Libya inch by inch, house by house, home by home, early by Ellie, person by person until the country is clean off dirt and impurities. Sorry, giggles that shoots her another. Look what? Says Sarah. I'm not laughing at the situation. It's just well, he's funny. Libyan dialect is funny