Книга только для ознакомления
. "All right, comb the
banks!"
The hunting party split up and covered both sides of the
stream in each direction. Toede, more impatient than ever
now, waited with Groag and drummed his fingers on his
saddle pommel while Galiot took the opportunity to drink
some of the cool, crystalline water. "We'll see," muttered
Toede. "We'll just see . . ."
Before too long, the dogs upstream on the opposite side
began barking furiously. A hobgoblin there blew his horn.
"Ha! Now what do you say, Groag?" called Toede as he
splashed across the stream on Galiot. He hunched over to
avoid some low branches. "Kronin is not as clever as he -
or you - believes!"
An exhausted Groag, falling to the rear of the pursuing
hobgoblins, didn't answer. A dead branch had torn the
sleeve of his fancy robe.
"Uh oh, do you hear what I hear?" asked Talorin as he
and Kronin dragged the dripping wet, impossibly
cumbersome deer carcass through the woods. They stopped
to listen. Talorin leaned against a large, rough-barked tree
and slid to the ground to rest. "Goodness, they are
persistent," remarked Kronin. "My poor wrist is starting to
chafe," complained Talorin, "and I'm tired and hungry - "
"My, my, such a grumpy boy," said Kronin
|
