Книга только для ознакомления
.
He could hear them shrieking, flapping frantically,
tumbling from the sky -
"Not them," he murmured. "Not by my doing, surely.
But what can I do against these invaders?"
And a moment later, he thought, startled, "And could
I give up my revenge, my vengeance for being scorned,
after treasuring it for so long? In this cycle of sorrow,
vengeance is all that sustains me."
It was something to consider on a long walk.
At mid-day the stag entered the Central Glade alone,
well ahead of the draconians. "Master!" The woods took
his cry in, draining it, not echoing.
"I am here," came the voice from the rock softly. "I
am always here." The woods echoed ALWAYS.
"I have a question."
"You have often had questions. You may ask."
"There are many and diverse beings who l-live - " he
stumbled over the word " - inhabit this wood. Some
hooved, some human, some both; some living, some dead,
some a mix of living and dead."
"That much is true." She waited.
"How do they think of me? Do they think of me as
one of them?" The loneliness in his own voice startled
him.
"You are regarded differently by different beings. Do
you wish to be thought one of them?"
The stag thought of those he knew and taunted, then
thought of the draconians
|
