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I had the sense of a crossbow with its bolt loaded, the slight pressure of a finger on the trigger, that of a mountain containing fire, a seething, churning lake of molten stone, easily agitated, which might erupt. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 21, Sentence #95)

In the beast there was no sign of agitation, but, rather, of attention, of vigilance. What storm of force, I wondered, might be unleashed in such a mighty frame? Surely it was there, beneath that surface. Could lightning, waiting, conceal itself within a pelt, lie in ambush; it might seem so. I had the sense of a crossbow with its bolt loaded, the slight pressure of a finger on the trigger, that of a mountain containing fire, a seething, churning lake of molten stone, easily agitated, which might erupt. I regarded the beast. I could not well sense its mien. I could read no expression, nor intent, on its face, or muzzle; there was no wrinkled snout, no bared fangs. - (Smugglers of Gor)