wrote:That is not how he writes. You shall be chastised.
Sorry pal, but it is. Light in Paolini's world is fermented, raindrops are cabuchons, Oromis has a body like woodcuts, people divulge clubs, women house daggers between the vast hills of their ample bosoms, Ajihad's blood was like ink running down charcoal, balls coalesce, strawberries have beards, people eat blackberries a corpuscle at a time, and sunlight over forests is like an amber film.
The third book looks tremedously worse. Lancet passageways shaped like keyholes, Saphira refracting blue specks of light like a disco ball, then a random, halty description of the lethrblaka. Every tree has a specified species, Roran brandishes his hammer while riding a massive dragon, so on and so on.
Gladstone/Sentynel/Krim/Gladstone/Sentynel/Krim/Stroud/Gladstone
The three ships. Kinda like the Mayflower and all those.