“FOOT” in italiano

The foot of his comrade lay bloody on the bottommost step.

Everyone there was filthy, grey from head to foot with ash, their nation and race unguessable.

Her foot slid on something wet and slippery; she tumbled in among the waiting dragon eggs, gasping, lay still and took a moment to catch her breath.

She’d shuffled along, one foot in front of the other, and it’d pained him to watch.

But once they set foot into the arena of battle, they became as bloodthirsty as Amren.

Her thighs burned with each foot she walked up and down the ramp of the library, her arms unbearably stiff with each book she lifted to its resting place.

Chunks of it, nothing all that remarkable until you looked closer and saw, now and then, that one was shaped as a finger, or maybe a foot or a piece of a face.

The Dead God shrank in on himself, and bore Aarin toward the ragged foot of the stairs.

Enormous onyx beasts—scaled, like those she’d seen on the Hewn City’s pillars—lay at the foot of the dais.

Mountains that Cassian sailed over when flying were endless on foot.

It tried to run from him, but he caught its rear leg, severing its foot.