Книга только для ознакомления
. As old
as Kyra was, he never really thought she
would act like just another human and die.
She was always there to tell him how he looked,
to tell him what he should wear - to be his friend. And now
she was gone.
She had died all alone in this old, dilapidated shack.
He peered inside and, for the first time, focused on the
picture that loomed over Kyra's body. Tosch's eyes opened
wide. It was Seron, just the way he used to be. It was a
magnificent likeness that caught every bit of character,
every nuance of emotion, in the long-dead painter's face.
The dragon stuck his head farther inside and saw scores
upon scores of Seron's image. Seron in every imaginable
pose and activity. But Tosch's gaze kept coming back to the
picture on the easel. The paint on that one was still wet. He
knew that this had been Kyra's last, impassioned work.
He had never known, never guessed, what she had been
painting all these years. Even now, staring at the evidence
of Kyra's lifelong devotion to Seron, Tosch could only
shake his head in wonder. He couldn't quite understand how
she could have loved Seron so much. But then again, maybe
he could. After all, didn't he love her in his own way, too?
He felt his wings quivering and he knew he was going
to do a rare thing - he was going to cry
|
