Книга только для ознакомления
. This time it drank consciously, thirstily; each drop
brought new awareness.
First came a greater sense of smell - no advantage just
now, but a world of sensation. The ruby eyes glowed
dimly, then grew brighter. Finally the entire dagger rippled
with new life and knowledge.
"I am not a dagger," it thought. "She spoke the truth. I
am a feeder."
Crawling out from under the body was easier, but a
greater surprise waited as the feeder scuttled to the door.
As it stumbled on the sill, its wings began to unfurl from
the hilt, beating once, then lifting the creature off the wood.
The dagger flew tentatively back to the goblin body and
dropped onto the neck with its full weight. After a moment
it withdrew and flew strongly into the night, scanning and
smelling for the dwarf, Flint, its owner, and - the kender,
wasn't it? - its user.
The night was full of hurrying bodies; the feeder could
smell their warmth, and its appetite was growing. Though
it did not know why, the feeder knew it urgently needed
blood, and afterward there was something it must do,
something important. As it circled between the village and
the lakeshore, suddenly a very old, familiar scent came to
it: the smell of ownership
|
