s01e03 — The Ladder

@Haoose: thanks a lot, I didn't know that it was already possible to watch, hooray) I'm really looking forward to every next episode

@vk323557: There are already all 10 episodes. Enjoy watching!

There are already three episodes of the second season. Enjoy watching!

What level is it? Is his eyelid wet? Yes, and the book mentions that they often skinned the pipe or the revolver. And does everyone know about the factory seams on the sealskin clothes of the Silent One from childhood, too? And no, this is not a quibble about the series, it's just something that caught my eye when compared with the book and the description of the author.

@vk729438: The eyelid has significantly more delicate skin + it is constantly moisturized. And as for the seams, they are needleworkers who sew better than any factories.

@mishe1: Suddenly, Sir John shifted his gaze to the left and looked over Lieutenant Levecont's shoulder at the burial crater, which was less than twenty feet from the southern end of the tent. The ice hole had long been frozen, and the funnel itself was almost filled to the top with snow from the day of the funeral, but the sight of a small depression in the ice now made Sir John's sentimental heart ache at the memory of the young Mountain. But it was a wonderful funeral service. And he–Captain Sir John Franklin–conducted it with the dignity and honor befitting a military man.
Did Sir John notice two black objects lying side by side at the very bottom of a shallow pit–dark pebbles, probably buttons or coins, left here in memory of Lieutenant Gore by one of the sailors who passed by the burial place exactly a week ago? and in the dim, wavering light of the snow swirls, tiny black circles, almost invisible if you didn't know exactly where to look, seemed to stare at Sir John with sad reproach. He wondered if, due to some bizarre weather conditions, two tiny holes in the ice column remained there, which did not freeze during the cold and snowfalls and now show two tiny circles of black water against a background of gray ice.
The black dots blinked.
–Uh, Sergeant,– Sir John began.
The entire bottom of the burial pit suddenly rose sharply. Something huge, white-gray, powerful swiftly jumped out of the funnel, rushed to the camouflage tent, whirled past and disappeared beyond the field of view limited by the embrasure.
The Marines, clearly not really seeing or understanding anything, did not have time to react.
A powerful blow struck the south side of the tent three feet from Levecont and Sir John, crushing the iron frame and tearing the canvas.

The Marines and Sir John leapt to their feet; the thick canvas above, behind, and to their side was tearing with a crash, torn by black claws the length of hunting knives. Everyone shouted in unison. The sickening stench of carrion hit my nose.
Sergeant Bryant raised his musket–the creature was inside, with them, among them, closing a ring of paws around them– but before he could fire, a fetid wave of the terrible predator's breath rolled over them. The sergeant's head bounced off his shoulders, flew out into the embrasure and rolled on the ice.
Levecont screamed, someone fired a musket, hitting only a marine nearby, and the next moment the canvas ceiling cracked apart and something huge loomed over them, obscuring the sky; and at the moment when Sir John turned to rush away from the torn tent, a terrible pain pierced His legs are right under his knees.
Then everything swam before his eyes and became like a bad dream. He seemed to be hanging upside down, looking at people who were rolling head over heels on the ice in different directions, like skittles, at people thrown out of a torn tent. Another musket fired, but only because the Marine threw the weapon on the ice and tried to escape on all fours. Sir John saw it all, hanging upside down, in the most unthinkable, most ridiculous way. The pain in his legs became unbearable, then there was a crack like the cracking of young trees being broken, and the next moment he flew into a funeral funnel, to a black hole in the ice, as if prepared for him. He broke through the thin ice crust with his head, like a newborn baby bursting an amniotic sac.
In the scalding cold water, Sir John's racing heart stopped beating for a few moments. He tried to scream, but choked on salt water.
"I'm at sea. For the first time in my life, I am in the sea itself. How strange."

@mishe1: Then he frantically flailed his arms, turning over and over, feeling the winter coat torn to shreds falling apart on him, no longer feeling pain in his legs and finding no support in the icy water. Sir John was making wide strokes with his hands, not knowing in the eerie, impenetrable darkness whether he was climbing up or sinking deeper into the black abyss.
"I'm drowning. Jane, I'm drowning. Over the years of my service in the Navy, I have painted in my imagination a variety of pictures of my death, but never once, my dear, never once did I think that I would drown."
Sir John hit his head on something hard, almost fainting, turning face down again and choking on salt water again.
"And then, my dears, Providence showed me the way to the surface, or at least to an inch of breathable air between the sea and fifteen feet of ice."
Working furiously with his hands (his legs still did not move), Sir John turned over on his back and began frantically scratching the ice above him with his fingers. He forced himself to calm down body and soul so that he could stick his nose out into the thinnest air gap between ice and icy water. He was breathing. Lifting his chin, he coughed up salt water and began to breathe through his mouth.
"Thank You, Lord Jesus..."
Resisting the temptation to scream, Sir John beat on the water with his hands and began to move along the lower surface of the ice, as if climbing a wall. The pack ice was uneven from below: sometimes it protruded down into the water, leaving not a single thin layer of air, and sometimes it retreated five or six inches upwards, allowing almost the entire face to be lifted above the water.

@mishe1: Despite the fifteen-foot-thick ice above him, Sir John saw a dim light–blue light, the light of God–refracted by the rough edges of the ice protrusions just inches from his eyes. The faint daylight penetrated here through the ice hole–the burial hole of the Mountain–into which he had just been thrown.
"And now, my dear ladies, my dear Jane, all I had to do was find my way to this little hole–get my bearings, so to speak–but I knew that time was counting by the minutes..."
Not for minutes, but for seconds. Sir John felt the icy water inexorably freezing the life out of him. And something terrible was happening to my legs. Not only did he not feel his legs, he felt their complete absence. And the seawater tasted like blood.
"And then, lady, Almighty God showed me the light..."
On the left. The hole was about ten yards to his left. The ice here stood high enough from the black water for Sir John to raise his head, rest his bald head against the rough ice, take a deep breath, blink the water and blood from his eyes and really see the light of the Savior less than ten yards away…
Something huge and wet floated up from the depths and obscured the light. It became dark as the grave. A wave of monstrous stench hit the face, displacing the breathable air.
–Please...– began Sir John, choking and coughing.
Then a wet stench enveloped the unfortunate man, and huge teeth closed on his face, crunching through his skull.

@SolRus: I will tell you a world secret: gays have existed at all times in the history of mankind, in all countries, in all strata of society, in all professions, religions, etc. It's not a game, it's realism.

@SolRus: this is all according to the plot of the book

@SolRus: You need to fight not with reality, but with stupidity.

@SolRus: don't get sick, you moron)

@id219932808: I will add to your comment

And a little bigger

@Bart182: Awesome!

USSR 1922-1991, and the action of the series takes place in 1845, what do you mean?

@Nomber: an anachronism, or it was just the most successful prop, which suited the spirit of the series.

@Nomber: it was done intentionally so that the hamsters bombed later in the comments on this website

@id219932808: How did you notice that? 🫣🫣🫣

@Bart182: clearly

@SolRus: It's fucked up, of course, but not as fucked up as homophobia

@SolRus: You can call your little fear hate, but it's just insectoophobia.
To talk? Well, I don't know, you're stubborn anyway and you're going to keep saying that this is a disease, an abomination, a dirty trick and that there are also spiritual staples bequeathed to scream when trying to damn pederasts to justify their godless existence. A waste of time is shorter.

@Delfina: если простенько, то в книге в легенде о Туунбаке говорилось, что шаманы заключили с ним договор: люди не охотятся на землях Туунбака, а он их не трогает. И в книге практически каждый раз перед появлением Туунбака где-то есть упоминание об охоте, убитых или раненых медведях.

@divoannet: спасибо