"Chalker, Jack L - Rings 1 - Lords Of The Middle Dark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

That out of the way, it was time to get into the next level of sociability.
"How does the tribe fare, elder? I have been away a while."
"Not too badly," the old man replied. "The nation numbers in the thousands, and
the tribe now is almost three hundred. There were many births this past season,
and few deaths. Of course, up north the Blackfoot and the damned Lakotas are
overhunting their quotas, and in the south the Apaches are overrunning their
borders -- I fear we may have a war with one or the other before too many more
seasons are out. The southern migration is peaceful, but those damned flying
saucers keep scaring the buffalo, and there are many difficult and hungry days
because of it. We must handle those greedy tribes, and we will, but surely you
can do something about those cursed flying things."
Runs With the Night Hawks sighed. "Each year we have had this problem, and each
year 1, as tribal representative, lodge protests and am assured that routes will
be changed and new studies made, but nothing is ever done. You say I am getting
a bit fat, and it is true, but those who might change things are fatter, and the
fat is not merely in their bellies." He sighed. "More than once I have wished I
could convene a War Council to do to the administrators what we do with the
Sioux."
"But they are of the People, too! They return at times each year for a season,
as you do. Why does this not give them some feel for the problems?"
"You know why. The Upper Council is dominated by Aztecs, Mayans, Navaho, Nez
Perce, and others like that."
"Farmers and city dwellers! None of them could survive out here for a week let
alone a season! It is a sad day when policy is made by old women. Particularly
old women who were born old women!"
"You are old and wise. You know it is simply numbers. Those who are free to
follow the buffalo and ride the winds of the plains can never equal the numbers
of those who are farmers and craft-weavers."
The old man took another drink and sighed. "You know, boy, I often think that
they should have gone all the way when they restored us to our lands and ways.
My soul is never so filled as when I am out there, under the stars, watching the
wind blow the tall grasses like some great sea and hearing the kind whispers of
the Creator."
"If they did, we would have no horses," Hawks pointed out, not for the first
time. "The old days were not all that wonderful. Women were married at first
blood and had twenty children, only to lose most at birth or before the age of
one. An ancient one was perhaps thirty-five. Diseases and infections ravaged all
the People. It was a terrible price that they paid. Perhaps some flying ships
scaring the buffalo from time to time is not too great a price to pay for losing
the bad parts."
"I know, I know. You need not lecture me."
"I am sorry if I offended you. I am a historian, after all. It is my nature to
lecture." He sighed. "I am away too long. I forget myself. You are my guest, and
here I am quarreling with you."
"It is nothing. I am an old man, ignorant of much and riding the plains until my
dust becomes one with that carried on the winds. We have had three returned to
us from the Lesser Councils this past season. I am of a different world than
they, but by choice. Do not mistake my frustrations for contempt. Each person
must follow his own course. I am as proud of the accomplishments of those like
you as I am when a young one becomes of age and passes the test and chooses the