"Dragonlance Tales I - Vol2 - Kender, Gully Dwarves and Gnomes" - читать интересную книгу автора (DragonLance)

and Haven as a sanctuary for storm-caught travelers. But
now, with the blizzard raging harder, it seemed that their
hope might be as hollow as the empty wood bin.
Behind him the half-elf could hear Tas poking around the
bleak shelter, his bright kender spirit undaunted by the toll
of the journey. There wasn't much to find. Shards of
crockery lay scattered around the hard-packed dirt floor.
The one narrow table that had been the shelter's only
furnishing was now a heap of broken boards and splintered
wood. After a moment Tanis heard the tuneless notes of the
shepherd's pipe that Tas had been trying to play since he
came by it several weeks ago. The kender had never
succeeded in coaxing anything from the shabby old
instrument that didn't sound like a goat in agony. But he
tried, every chance he got, maintaining - every chance he
got - that the pipe was enchanted. Tanis was certain that the
pipe had as much likelihood of being enchanted as he had
now of getting warm sometime soon.
"Oh, wonderful - the dreaded pipe," Flint growled. "Tas!
Not now!"
As though he hadn't heard, Tas went on piping.
With a weary sigh Tanis turned to see Flint sitting on his
pack, trying with cold-numbed hands to thaw the frozen
snow from his beard. The old dwarf's muttered curses were
a fine testament to the sting of the ice's freezing pull.
Only Sturm was silent. He leaned against the door jamb,
staring out into the blizzard as though taking the measure of
an opponent held, for a time, at bay.
"Sturm?"
The boy turned his back on the waning day. "No wood?"
"None." Tanis shivered, and it had little to do with the
cold. "Flint," he called, "Tas, come here."
Grumbling, Flint rose from his pack.
Tas reluctantly abandoned his pipe and made a curious
foray past the empty wood bin. He'd gamboled through
snow as high as his waist today, been hauled, laughing like
some gleeful snow sprite, out of drifts so deep that only the
pennon of his brown topknot marked the place where he'd
sunk. Still his brown eyes were alight with questions in a
face polished red by the bite of the wind.
"Tanis, there's no wood in the bins," he said. "Where do
they keep it?"
"In the bins - when it's here. There is none, Tas."
"None? What do you suppose happened to it? Do you
think the storm came up so suddenly that they didn't have a
chance to stock the bin? Or do you suppose they're not
stocking the shelters anymore? From the look of this place
no one's been here in a while. THAT would be a shame,
wouldn't it? It's going to be a long, cold night without a
fire."