“SHRED” in italiano

Hundreds of boats bobbed, rocked by the brisk cold winds that blew off the mountains, everything from little skiffs with barely a shred of sail to massive Vespinese river barges.

It’d drive them to their knees, and if they struggled close enough to touch it, the crystal would shred them to pieces.

She shaped the glass some more, making it into a ball with needles sticking out so it would explode into a hail of sharpened slivers that would shred anyone near it.

Zafir looked deep inside to see if she could find any shred of pity for Shrin Chrias Kwen and what she’d done to him, but all she saw was Brightstar’s blood pooling across the floor of her little cabin on Quai’Shu’s ship the day they’d arrived in Xican, and then, much later, when he’d come to her with his men and told them to rape her, one after another.

There wasn’t a shred of beauty or dignity in the man before him, but neither did he seem pitiable or small.

It was always that way between them: Elain, sweet and oblivious, and Nesta, the snarling wolf at her side, poised to shred anyone who threatened her.

In Xibaiya the Nothing slowly grew, the unravelling thing, the crack in the essence of everything summoned by the Black Moon to shred the world as the age of the Silver Kings reached its end.

It had cracked an intrinsic piece of him, some final resistance and shred of hope that everything they’d endured during the war might amount to something.

She did like the sense of accomplishment it provided, and she did feel a shred less remorseful as she worked her way through the bucket list.

Cassian knew he’d shred anyone who so much as blinked wrong at Feyre into a million bloody ribbons.

Cassian didn’t care that Eris had convinced Keir to delay his visit to Velaris, had apparently done so out of whatever shred of kindness remained in him.