Hale guessed that they were of a language much older, the uncompromised speech of mountain conversing with mountain and lightning and cloud, seeming random only to creatures like himself whose withered verbs and nouns had grown apart from the things they described. The cracks and thunders made syllables in the depleted air, but they didn’t seem to be in Arabic. ”… From over the shoulder of the mountain, on the side by the Abich I glacier, he heard booming and cracking and then the earthbound thunder sounded to his right, and he saw that it was the noise of avalanches, galleries and valleys of snow moving down from the heights and separating into fragments then tumbling and exploding into jagged bursts of white against the remote gray sky before they disappeared below his view. Perhaps this will explain better than I what I mean by wonderful descriptions and almost “lyrical prose.”
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