Burma Wools

“We’ve been lucky. The autumn happened to be dry and warm. We managed to dig the potatoes before the rain and cold set in. Minus what we owed and returned to the Mikulitsyns, we have up to twenty sacks, and it is all in the main bin of the cellar, covered above, over the floor, with straw and old, torn blankets. Down there, under the floor, we also put two barrels of Tonya’s salted cucumbers and another two of cabbage she has pickled. The fresh cabbage is hung from the crossbeams, head to head, tied in pairs. The supply of carrots is buried in dry sand. As is a sufficient amount of harvested black radishes, beets, and turnips, and upstairs in the house there is a quantity of peas and beans. The firewood stored up in the shed will last till spring.”
― Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

“The Black was looking out on the open sea; his ears pricked forward, his thin-skinned nostrils quivering, his black mane flowing like windswept flame. Alec could not turn his eyes away; he could not believe such a perfect creature existed.”
― Walter Farley

“Come on, Iko.”
Iko was still hiding, hugging herself self-consciously. “Is he looking?”
Kai raised an eyebrow.
“He’s not looking,” said Cinder.
A hesitation. “Are you sure?”
Cinder gestured exasperatedly at Kai. “You’re not looking.”
He cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, for all the stars." Crossing his arms, he turned his back on them.”
― Marissa Meyer, Cress

“Part of the hem floated loose. She spun around again—the fabric tightened like wool on a spindle. She breathed in fear. The boat was farther away. She swung her head around—so was the shore.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece