Narration style fiction - White Fang
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General) South African (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
dark spruce forest frowned on either side. The frozen board away. The trees have been stripped by recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seem to lean towards each other, black and ominous. In the fading light, a vast silence reigned over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless without movement, so lone and called that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it, of laughter, but of the laughter more terrible than any sadness, a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of this things. A laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility. It was the masterful and in communicable wisdom of eternity, laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the wild, the savage, frozen hearted Northland wild. But there was life abroad in the land and defiant down the frozen waterway toil the string off wolfish dogs. Their bristly fur was rimmed with frost, their breath frozen. The areas it left their mouth spouting forth and spew mes of vapour that settled upon the hair of their bodies and formed into crystals of frost. leather harness was on the dogs and leather traces attached them to a slate, which dragged along behind. The Slade was without runners. He was made of staff birch bark and it's full surface rested on the snow. The front end of the slide was turned up like a scroll in order to force down and under the bore of snow that surged like a wave before it. On the slate, securely lashed was a long and narrow oblong box. There were other things on the slate, blankets and acts on a coffee pot and a frying pan. But prominent, occupying most of the space was the long and narrow oblong box in advance of the dogs. On wide snowshoes toiled. A man at the rear of the slate toiled a second man on this late in the box lay 1/3 man, whose 12 was over a man whom the Wild had conquered and beaten down until he would nevermore struggle again. It is not the way of the wild to like movement. Life is an offence to it, for life is movement, and the wild aims always to destroy movement. It freezes the water to prevent it from running to the sea. It drives the sap out of the trees till they are frozen to their mighty hearts. And most ferociously and terribly of all, does the wild Harry and crush into submission man man who is the most restless of life ever in revolt against the ****. Um, that all movement must in the end, come to the cessation of movement. But at front and rear, a northern indomitable toiled the two men who were not yet dead. Their bodies were covered with fur and soft hand. Later, eyelashes and cheeks and lips were so coated with the crystals from their frozen breath that their faces were not discernible. This gave them the seeming of ghostly masks, undertakers in a spectral world at the funeral of some ghost. But under it'll, they remain penetrating the land of desolation and mockery in silence. Purely adventurers went on colossal adventure, pitting themselves against the might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as thie abyss of space. They travelled on without speech, saving their breath for the work of their bodies. On every side was the silence, pressing upon them with a tangible presence. It affected their minds as the many atmospheres of deep water. The fake the body of the diver. It crushed them with the weight of unending vastness and unalterable decree. It crushed them into the remotest recesses off their own minds, pressing out of them like juices from the great. All the false orders and exultation tze and undo self values of the human soul until they perceive themselves finite and small speaks and moats, moving with weak cunning and little wisdom. Amidst the play and interplay of the great blind elements and forces, an hour went by and a second hour the pale light of the short son this day was beginning to fade when a faint far cry arose on the still air. It soared upward with a swift rush till it reached its stop. Most note, where it persisted, palp it in't contains and then slowly died away. It might have been a lost soul waving had it not. Bean invested with a certain sad fierceness and hungry eagerness. The front man turned his head until his eyes made the eyes of the man behind and then across the narrow oblong box, each nodded to the other. A sick and cry arose, piercing the silence with needle like shrillness. Both men located the sound. It was to the rear somewhere in the snow expanse. They had just reversed the third, and answering cry arose also to the rear and to the left of the second cry. They're after us, Bill, said the man at the front. His voice sounded horse and unreal, and he had spoken with apparent effort. Meat is scarce, answered his comrade. I ain't seen a rabbit sign for days Thereafter, they spoke no more, though their ears were keen for the hunting cries that continued to rise behind them. At the full of darkness, they swung the dogs into a cluster of spruce trees on the edge of the waterway and made a camp. The coffin at the site of the fire served for seat and table. The wolf dogs, clustered on the far side of the fire, snarled and bickered among themselves, but even snow inclination to stray off into the darkness