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'I went, one foot after another on those broken, ancient boards, my hands gripping the worn ropes at my sides, the wind whipping me, tossing the bridge; and all around me was wild white. I was between heaven and earth, life and death only a slip of the foot apart. I dared not look back or below, but only looked along those narrow wooden boards, those frail ropes, as i went on, creeping, helpless in the gale.

I went on forever, it seemed, suspended on those threads. At times the wind threw me about so violently, I shut my eyes and clung with all my strength, and thought my time had come to die. I shook so much i could hardly hold on. And all the time my heart thundered, and the sweat of fear trickled down inside my clothes.

At last I saw the cliff and the rocky path on the other side, and the ends of the bridge tied to the upright poles. The bridge was badly damaged at this end, the ropes torn and frayed by the wind. As I stepped off, I heard threads snapping. I clung to the rocks at the side of the path, trembling, feeling sick, inexpressibly relieved to be on solid earth again.

I looked back along the bridge, but could see little. Mist, shredded by the gale, raced across the chasm, and I was aware again of the echoes, the weird sounds made by the wind in the ravine far below. I saw the bridge quiver and tighten, and knew that the donkey and my lord stepped on the other side. I gripped the rocks, ice forming on my hair and hands, and waited for him. A thousand years I waited. I cursed the mist. I could see nothing, nothing but white. Then I thought I heard a sound, a shout, and a hoof striking wood. The bridge swayed, and was still again.

"Can you hear me, lord?" I called.

His voice came back, wraithllike in the wind; I could not make out his words.

"The bridge is damaged!" I called. "Leave the donkey. Come on alone."

I waited again, hardly breathing, terrified. I saw the ropes of the bridge go tense, and threads break. There was a creaking, snapping sound, and a great and awful cry; I saw the ropes part, tearing, seperating, threads flying in the wind, rope and wood and life hanging, falling, gone.

Then there was a silence, but for the storm. And nothing. Nothing across all that abyss but mist and ice and wind.

I stared at it, unbelieving, half expecting the ropes and wood to materialize, to form again with my Firelord there, smiling, and laughing in that quiet way of his. But the ropes did not ome back, no matter how hard I sared and hoped and prayed, and after a while I knew they never would. And I knew I'd never see the Firelord again, of hear his voice, or know the great and gentle way of him.'

(Part 2, Chapter 17, Page 220-222)

The author has used very good describing words. When she was writing about hearing a cry, she uses words like "awful" and "great". When she wrote about the ropes snapping, she added "wood and life hanging, falling, gone," to the end. It makes it very intense, when I first read it I instantly thought "the Firelords dead". And I was right. Her style, or techneque, of writing is very unique and brings tension when it is being read.