Книга только для ознакомления
. They were close now. He hunched his shoulders
against the wind.
Wolves! Aye, and likely hungry enough not to turn aside
from stone-headed kender or young idiots who can't hie
themselves back from a simple wood-gathering trip in
decent time. . . .
"Tas! Where ARE you?!"
The snow erupted right at Flint's feet. Scrambling for
balance he slipped, tried to catch himself and, tripping over
a snow-mantled boulder, tumbled into a drift.
"Flint! Wait! Flint! Where'd you go?"
His long brown eyes ablaze with laughter, his face bright
with merriment, Tas leaped into the drift, narrowly missing
Flint's head. Tugging and pulling, then shoving and
pushing, he got the dwarf righted and on his feet again.
"Flint, it's a little cold for playing games, don't you
think? Look at you, I can't find your beard for the snow!"
His impish laughter skirled high above the wind's roar.
"What are you doing out here, Flint? I thought you said we
were to wait at the shelter. You know, you're really going to
be sorry later. There might not be a fire, after all, and you're
so wet you'll freeze solid. You should have stayed inside."
There WERE words, Flint thought later, to express his
fury. And a pity it was that he could not have found them
when he needed them; they would easily have melted the
last inch of snow from the mountain
|
