Boots On The Ground Synonym Novels & Stories

He pleaded. "You're being paranoid. And I don't mean ordinary shoes, their feet are swollen beneath their pants. What does that tell you?" "That their legs are swollen?" He replied dryly. He wasn't getting it. "They have boots on. That means they're going to a completely different land type from the one that this one has." I said and he almost turned around to look, but I warned him before he could. "I told you not to look." "What are you going to do?" He was finally convinced.

“Don’t come out until I say.” By the time she turned back toward the front of the workshop/sitting room, the sound of boots had replaced the hoofbeats. Heavy, iron-clad, and getting closer.

"I keep coming back to that word. Not as a physical thing. As what you need before you build anything. You need ground that is actually solid. That is what the place would give. A ground to stand on." Lucian was quiet as he listened. "Ground," he said after a moment when I was done talking. "It needs a better form than that," I said. "But the idea is that." "The Grounding," he said as if thinking. "Or just Ground. One word." I said it in my head. Ground. "Ground," I said out loud. It sat correctly in my heart and in the air. It was not perfect. Nothing sat perfectly anywhere but it sat with the quality of a word that would wear in rather than wear out, that would mean more over time rather t

I move towards a mountain that isn’t too high but not low, it would allow me see things that I won’t see form standing on mere ground. Thank God for the gloves and hiking Boots. I crawl with my hands and feet, climbing gently because the last thing I need now is to fall down this height. My nails claws at the cold bumpy surface. The sound of my boots echo louder in the quite. Fresh coldness clamps my lungs as I breathe trying not to shiver. I exhale loudly as I get to the top. I stand upright and look around me looking into the tall trees then I saw feet, or rather boots on legs.

"Michael, what the fuck are you doing down there? This isn't a sight-seeing tour." Smart bastard... And, filling my lungs again, I pull up from my right arm, reaching, and pushing up from the feet again... ... and my feet skid... I don't know if the brickwork is iced or just sheened in condensation, but the soles of my boots slide like some old slips-on-the-banana-skin joke, lose contact with the wall and abruptly, I'm dangling...

"Speaking of feet, your boots look fantastic on you, Mom." "Yeah fantastically slutty you mean, but I guess that is why you bought them for me huh, Tony." Slutty indeed as the black leather boots with their 4.5 inch stiletto heels come all the way up to her knees. He doesn't bother to respond. Instead he gives her a wan smile indicating what she said is the truth.

SORAYA “Shit!” I cursed as I pulled my boots away from a heap of cattle dung that I had inadvertently stepped on as I absentmindedly strutted along the narrow footpath. The lush green grasses on both sides of the bare path in addition to the poor visibility made it difficult to spot the droppings even when one was paying attention and I snarled angrily at how messy my boots had become. I promptly wiped what I could against the grass and continued on my way.

I slipped into a pair of dark denim skinny jeans, their snug fit providing both comfort and flexibility for the challenges that lay ahead. Reaching for a sturdy leather belt, I fastened it securely around my waist, its presence adding a touch of rugged practicality to my ensemble. I retrieved my worn leather boots, their soles bearing the marks of countless journeys through treacherous terrain. With each step, they had carried me through adversity and ensured my stability on uncertain paths.

A few times, my wolf threatened to come forth, but I was in better control of it. I got a pair of Jogging boots from last night's shopping. Before now, I jogged on my ten toes, surely obscure, but when I saw humans run just as I did one on the side of the street, or on the bridge over a river, they did put that on. I found the design fascinating so I got mine, a pair of black boots.

Heaven didn’t bleed; it cracked like fine china under the weight of my obsidian boots. I walked through the Bone-Coral grove, the heels of my right boot clicking against the silver soil while my left stone leg dragged with a heavy, rhythmic thud. The sound was a desecration. In this world of perfect loops and rendered peace, I was a walking glitch. I was the dirt beneath their fingernails, the ash in their sterile lungs. Ga-chi. Ga-chi.