Книга только для ознакомления
. Matya spat on her palm.
Belek did likewise, and the two shook hands. The bargain
had been struck.
Matya bade Belek farewell and loaded the bolt of cloth
into her wagon outside the ramshackle trading post. The
wagon was a colorful, if somewhat road-worn, affair - a
wooden box on wheels, painted in countless bright but
peeling hues. Hitched in front was a single dun-colored
donkey with patient eyes and extraordinarily long ears.
Matya's wagon was filled nearly to overflowing with all
manner of wares, both mundane and curious: pots and pans,
cloaks and boots, arrows and axes, flints, knives, and even a
sword or two, plus countless other objects she had bought,
haggled for, or - most of the time - scavenged. Traveling
from town to town, trading and striking bargains, was how
Matya made her living. And it was not a bad one at that.
Like the wagon, Matya herself was a bit worn with the
years. Her long hair, coiled in a thick braid atop her head,
had been flaxen, but now was ash gray. Countless days of
sun and wind had tanned and toughened her ruddy cheeks.
Fine wrinkles touched the comers of her eyes and mouth,
more from smiling than frowning, and so were attractive.
And, like the wagon, Matya was clad in a motley collection
of clothes representing all colors of the rainbow, from her
ocean-blue skirt to her sunflower-yellow shirt and forest-
green vest speckled with tiny red flowers. Her willowy,
figure had plumped out, but there was still an air of beauty
about her, of the simplest and most comforting kind - when
her nut-brown eyes weren't flashing fire, that is
|
