Книга только для ознакомления
. "Wha . . .
what? What happen? Where?" Wincing at the effort, it tried
to remember . . . and could not. Only a word came to memory, one
significant word. A name? Yes, a name.
His own name. Krog.
Sore and shaking, he stood. Small, unseen things
scurried away among the tumbled stones.
KROG. "I... am Krog," he muttered. It was true. He
knew that, but nothing more. His name was Krog, but what
had happened to him? Where was he? And WHY?
"Who am I?" he whispered. "Krog... what is Krog? WHO is
Krog?"
The battered landscape told him nothing. In the
distance, where dawning grew, were smoke and haze. In the
other direction were high mountains, but they meant
nothing to him. Everywhere he looked, he saw a bleak and
sundered landscape that was the only landscape he knew
because he remembered no others.
It was as though he had just been born, and abruptly he
felt a terrible loneliness - a need for ... something ... for
belonging. There must be someone somewhere, someone to
care for him. Someone to teach him, to help him
understand. There HAD to be someone.
He turned full circle, big hooded eyes scanning the
distance. Nothing moved. Nothing anywhere suggested that
there was another living creature other than himself.
"Not right," he muttered, the words a low growl that
came from deep within a great chest. "Not just Krog. Not all
alone. Has to be ... somebody else here."
He started walking on unsteady legs. All directions were
the same, so he went the way he had been facing, with the
mountains to his left and the gray, hazed morning to his
right
|
