Dune Novel Novels & Stories

The mare had no training for what he was about to ask of her and he prayed for help from above while he fought back panic and he buried his face in her strong neck. The mare impatiently worked the ground and tossed her head, as if to say, ‘get on with it’. Dennis took a deep breath and slowly felt his way down into the depths of the well. The jagged edges made an easy grip for him as he inched his way deeper into the bowels of black. It was dark, foul smelling, and full of decay. A soft warm breeze floated past him, carrying with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle. The refreshing difference provided a boost of energy and optimism as he preceded downward, calling for Tara as he did.

Instead, I would be grounded for a month rather than get nightmares for a year. There was dust on it. The particles made me cough as I blew to brush it off, only to inhale. I read the title as if it was in an ancient language. "Amihan," I whisper in the ancient tongue, pronouncing the word. It wasn't hard. Nay taught me a few letters of the ancient language, so reading the title of this book came in handy. Now here comes the fun part. I open the book to the first page and read the passage.

Russo’s POV The sun and the sand had ways of beating down on a man. The dunes shimmered in the oppressive heat. Russo lay on a rocky outcrop and he could taste the sand in his mouth. The dunes were far behind them now and the sun would only set in three more hours. They had located a rogue group of wolves that had entered one of their camps and gotten their hands on weapons that even they weren’t supposed to have. They had to destroy the weapons along with the rogue group before questions that nobody had the answers to were asked.

The Red Dunes bled. Beneath the rust-colored sky, the great sandstone gates of Iskhar yawned open. Heat shimmered off the ground like ghosts, and bone towers twisted toward the clouds, each one carved from the remains of wars long buried. Spears lined the paths. Skulls crowned the watchtowers. And in the air, thick and hot, hung the scent of flame-tempered oil and old prayers. This was the Dustborn Court. And it did not kneel.

The soldiers were immediately assembled in front of the walls and were ready to intercept the enemy. "GRAND ERUPTION!!" the ground breakers screamed as they unleashed thier joint technique on the incoming enemy. And from below, flames began shooting out from the cracks in the ground. The cracks got bigger and so did the flames, and it went on consuming their enemies until it was countered by another technique. "GREAT SAND STORM". This was the technique performed by Dune of the red sand. As soon as he unleashed his his technique, there was a more intense sandstorm than anyone had ever experience in a desert and it swept through the enemy frontline and kept going.

CHAPTER 51 The best thing about nights is that I can finally read a book without any interruption. When it comes to daytime, I feel like everything is going to ruin my reading experience. The first time I tried to read a book on school was when I was in high school. At first it was great to read inside the library, but when people started to treat library as a cafeteria, that’s when I lost my focus and passion for staying and reading inside. I closed the book after I reached half of it. The story was about war and orphans. In short, it’s a whole lot of mess. I remembered what Mom said earlier. Danger is everywhere. Danger is inevitable.

Turning the music off, I grab the lavender and put it in a tiny glass vase, and set it in the center of the long ebony black dining table. Walking out of the conjoined dining room and kitchen I grab my book, my water bottle, and a blanket. I set the water and blanket by the back door that leads to the porch, and the beach a little off, and head back to the kitchen with my book. Of human bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham. The book itself isn't bad, but from my point of view, it's terribly bland. I like more poetic works. But also a hint of darkness. The best example is the poem, In the Desert, by Stephen Crane, from his book The Black Riders and Other Lines. It has a sense of dystopia that I ca

Manang Lydia said. “Does she allow that?” Manang Lydia smiled and winked at me. “If you are feeling fine, then you can.” I went upstairs and went to Dale’s library. Before picking up a book to read, I enjoyed looking, rooming around first, leaving a gentle touch to every book I passed by. My gaze at the “The Scorch Trial” book that was written by James Dashner. I already finished reading “The Maze Runner”. I decided to read it and went to the garden.