Twilight Question: The Cold Ones Legend...?

Question

I need the cold ones legend word by word, if you can. How Jacob had described it.

Answer 1

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from - the Quileutes, I mean?" he began.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood - supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves - and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.

"Then there are stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the old ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf - well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

"So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did - they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why...?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.

"What do you mean 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He's been here and gone before your people had even arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."  

Answer 2

its in twilight, just re read it.

Answer 3

i think its like the cold ones are real werewolves that kill people. you know, the whole legends with werewolves howling at full moons. but jacob and them are from the genre kinda. but they help people. they are far family i guess and are just shapeshifters nope thats in breaking dawn. here

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent.

According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the

treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well,

not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them

werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

"So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to

our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their

kind did — they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce

with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He

winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why… ?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how

seriously I was considering his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was.

You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of

menace into his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals

instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your

greatgrandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and

continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my

great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before your

people had even arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."

Answer 4

Whoo, has if you people bother writting out the whole thing! (Or copy it off a website ¬_¬)

LOL

Answer 5

"The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." He

looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I'd thought

I'd heard in Sam's voice.

"Why not?"

He glanced back at me, biting his lip. "Oops. I'm not supposed to say

anything about that."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I tried to make my smile

alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

He smiled back, though, looking allured. Then he lifted one eyebrow and

his voice was even huskier than before.

"Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.

"I love them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.

Jacob strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out

like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on

one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree.

He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his

broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused

on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from — the

Quileutes, I mean?" he began.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to

the Flood — supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the

tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the

ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories.

"Another legend claims that we descended from wolves — and that the

wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.

"Then there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a

little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and

some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew

some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our

land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the

natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves

that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

"So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our

enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my

great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others

of their kind did — they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe.

So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to

stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked

at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why… ?" I tried to understand,

struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his ghost

story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if

they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get

too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into

his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow

able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens?

Are they like the cold ones your greatgrandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his

story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest

are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the

leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before your people had even

arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them

vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face

was exposing.

"You have goose bumps," he laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented him, still staring into the

waves.

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us

to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at him yet. "Don't worry,

I won't give you away."

"I guess I just violated the treaty," he laughed.

"I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then I shivered.

Answer 6

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent.

According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the

treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well,

not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them

werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

"So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to

our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their

kind did — they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce

with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He

winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why… ?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how

seriously I was considering his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was.

You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of

menace into his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals

instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your

greatgrandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and

continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my

great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before your

people had even arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."

Answer 7

Just re-read that part in Twilight.