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Lewandowski, biography at gandalf. Return to Book Page. Genre fiction — fictional works novels, short dziwdziczka written wi In many ways this is a dark, cyberpunk-kind of a world. He is married to Maja Lidia Kossakowska, also a Polish fantasy writer.
Black Oceans topic Czarne oceany Polish: Lily rated it really liked it Nov 09, This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. Retrieved 10 November Lists of awards Revolvy Brain revolvybrain the spectator singhmarpraveen. In a short time, her unit is sent to battlefield and captured by the enemy forces of Luan.
The novel is a mixture of fantasy, alternate history and science dziwdziczka. WegnerNiebo ze stali. His short stories have been trans Currently, he is working on a novel based on the world introduced in this sto Member feedback about Black Oceans: She was nominated eight times for the Janusz A. She took all the stuff from Aidan's bag to the attic and placed it in a small case. There wasn't much in there: She always kept the key to the case on a small chain around her neck.
She didn't want Robert to find those things and try to figure out the mystery behind her son's life. Years went by and little Robert was now a tallish boy with light hair and black eyes that shone like smouldering coals. He was always cheerful and full of life. And he had just entered the tenth year of his life. Robert was lying down under its shade, closing his eyes one at a time, watching the light through the green canopy.
He was always trying to catch glimpses of new flickers and each time he would become more enthusiastic, laughing out loud: It's spitting out flames! He had no idea how long he had been lying there like that. Perhaps for a few minutes, hours maybe,,, One thing was certain though, he really enjoyed this game and he always looked forward to summer when he could play with the sun's rays among the trees' branches again.
His grandmother had once told him he was a dreamer,,, so what? His parents had died when he was a young child and now he would spend hours at a time trying to imagine their faces. He'd never met them but that never stopped him from fantasising about new features for them, which he would always conjure up in his imagination.
Dreaming was the only thing no one could take away from him and the only thing he was good at. Robert Anderson! She's forever interrupting for something or other, he thought to himself crossly. Grandma's voice rang out once more: Mind you, child, dreaming shan't be enough to keep you well fed. You must try to be more down to earth if you want to make something out of your life.
Otherwise,,," Grandma didn't finish her sentence. She never did! Robert had not yet been able to find out what would happen "otherwise". Anyway, you couldn't mess about with Grandma, and when she got cross she could be very bossy, although she had never even so much as laid a hand on him when he'd done something naughty.
Instead, she would give you such a lecture that even grown-ups who dared argue with her would bow their heads in shame. And that was a fact: He got up lazily and started off slowly towards the house.
He went into the kitchen and took his place at the table, watching Grandma Abigail busying herself with the pots over the stove. He liked to watch her go about her work around the house and, without her knowing, he would follow all her moves attentively.
He started nibbling away, eating small bites while his mind wondered yonder outside where the beautiful weather and his many play areas were. I'll shoot off as soon as I'm done.
Aunt Martha was Grandma's sister. Robert liked to go and pay her a visit because then he could walk past one of his favourite places for playing: Normally, Grandma wouldn't allow him to go near there, always telling him it was too dangerous.
However, Robert liked to gather the flat, beautifully polished pebbles along the edge of the pond and toss them at the shimmering water. Most times he wouldn't even notice how quickly the time had flown. He would then hurry over to Aunt Martha's so as to make up for the wasted hours and still be able to get back home in time for supper.
When he found out that he had to go to Aunt Martha's he started gobbling down the rest of his meal. He finished in no time, climbed off his chair and handed his empty plate to his grandma.
Grandma looked at him smiling, placed a cap on top of his head, smartened up his breeches and passed him a satchel containing his aunt's parcel. Robert returned her smile. Grandma put on a serious face. To get to Aunt Martha's place he had to go right through the village then turn left onto the path that led to the pond and then onwards to the next village.
He was running, hoping to get to the other end of the village as quickly as possible, so as to spend longer playing by the pond. Monahan" he shouted without stopping. Horace Monahan was tidying up the front of his shop, sweeping vigorously at the dust that had gathered outside the store. He looked up, intrigued by the cheerful voice that greeted him.
They were all too familiar with his story and they felt a special sort of tenderness towards little Robert. Robert turned off the lanes in the village and started on the path leading to the pond. The day felt warm and the sunlight was clinging playfully onto his eyelashes.
He was nearing the small forest by the village. It had just gone midday and that meant he still had a few good hours left to play to his heart content. He stepped into the forest and breathed in the air greedily.
He liked that cool, fragrant air. He liked the rays of light trickling through the leaves of the tall trees. He was fascinated by the sounds of birds and other animals around him and the noises coming from the depths of the woods. He could hear the stags sharpening their antlers against the tree trunks, the woodpecker tapping the bark in search of food, the hares rustling through the tall grass.
He ambled on without hurrying, enjoying the carnival around him. At one point he left the road leading to Aunt Martha's and started on a small, less trodden path towards the pond. The way was hidden by overgrown bushes but Robert was well accustomed to the paths in the woods and knew that he would come out right by the pond once he's passed those bushes. The pond was in fact a small lake which had formed in a drain on the bank of the river that crossed the county.
A myriad of fish had found a home there amongst all the rich vegetation that grew abundantly in the water and on its edge.
Only animals ventured there to drink, disturbing the mirrored water and frightening the pond creatures.
Robert parted the branches of the bushes carefully and carried on along the path. Suddenly the pond showed itself in all its glory, like a magical oasis hidden away from prying eyes.
He smiled, feeling instantly happy, although the scenery around the water might have been considered quite ordinary by most people. Not by him though. It was a place where he could watch the fish, ants, insects or the swaying plants without anyone seeing him. It was a world in which he could make up thousands of stories without anyone contradicting him.
And then, there was his favourite game: He searched around him, looking for flat pebbles that were just right for throwing at the glistening water. He found some which he promptly stuffed into his pockets and headed for the pond.
He dropped his satchel on the grass and started playing, laughing aloud at seeing the fish, some big, some small, swimming in all directions, startled by the circles on the surface. When he had finished throwing his pebbles he stretched down on the grass and started watching the leaves shimmering high up in the tall trees. He shut his eyes and allowed himself to be carried away by the gentle breeze of the wind ruffling through his hair.
He felt good and he fancied he could lie there in that place forever. Suddenly he heard a rustle coming from the bushes ahead.
At first he didn't think anything of it, as he was certain it was just a gust of wind shaking the leaves. He was lying there quietly, eyes closed, when he heard that rustle again, this time a bit louder than before.
He suddenly jumped back, alert, his senses sharpened and clutched Grandma's satchel to his chest. There was no answer. It's probably just the hares, he said to himself encouragingly. Yes, just hares, he concluded, trying to pluck up some courage. He looked more closely at the bushes ahead. You couldn't see anything and you couldn't even hear that sound anymore.
All of a sudden, a dried twig snapped behind the bushes and, instinctively, he took a step back. The bushes moved with a rustle and slowly a white wolf stepped onto the bank. Robert came to a standstill. He knew that no one has seen any wolves around the forest surrounding the village for a very long time. Right now, however, there was one standing in front of him, following him with cold eyes, sizing him up.