"Doranna Durgin - Seer's Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Durgin Doranna)

Cadell had decided to break spring ground today. It was her particular job to hold the lines while he
steadied the plow, mostly because she had the patience to deal with the horse, who occasionally played
like he was stupid and had forgotten what plowing was all about.

Blaine looked at the white clouds scudding across the crisp blue sky. A perfect day for plowing; there'd
be no talking him out of it. And the wind picking up the edges of her ragged bangs would do a fine job of
drying the overturned earth so disking it the next day would be less of a chore.

No, no mountains today, nor the morrow. By the time she worked through all the phases of plowing,
those visitors would have passed by and been long goneтАФor if they had trading, their goods would be
picked clean through. She sighed, suddenly feeling the chill of the frost that rimed the porch rail. Cadell
jerked his chin at the horse, never of a mind to tolerate her fits of melancholy or her dream frights or even
her sighs. Work to be done.

She sighed again anyway.
***

Dacey shifted his shoulders beneath his pack, hesitating below the modest log house. He'd followed its
chimney smoke down out of the mountain and walked the creek to approach it from the bottom, but now
that he was here, he wasn't so sure of his course. So far, none of the Shadow Hollers locals knew of his
presence. It was probably wiser to keep it that way . . . nor was he ever inclined to socialize on his own.

But the dogs needed food.

Dacey's hand fell to Mage's head, rubbed the dog behind his long, soft ears; he smiled when the hound
leaned against his leg. There was no denying a hound his dinner.

On the nearly level ground to the side of the house, two figures worked a plow. Too soon to plant
anything but early lettuce and peas, but a smart man got those into the ground as soon as he could. In the
yard, two little ones hung on the porch, and Dacey caught the brown swish of a skirt disappearing into
the house. Then the youngest, his steps still unsteady, scooted out to the rough-logged barn. A moment
later, a young manтАФalmost old enough to have his own family, but still some years younger than
DaceyтАФcame out carrying the child.

Dacey had no illusions about the meaning of that little tableau. The older boy was heading for the house,
and would probably have a bow at the ready.

He glanced back at the two in the garden, close enough to see that the slighter figure was not a boy, but
a girl, a young woman. Her woven straw hat tipped down against the sun, and two hip-length braids
wrapped into one halfway down her back. Her legs were too long for the skirts she woreтАФhe saw a
flash of calf above her boots.Scrawny , he thought, and then tried to chase the unfortunate word away. It
wasn't kindly.

He stopped and watched father and daughter for a moment, seeing in their economic movements the
evidence of a long partnership. They reached the end of the row, where the girl hesitated just long enough
for her daddy to flip the trace chain over so it wouldn't twist, and then directed the horse in a tight turn
that brought Dacey right into her field of view. She stopped, startled, and it was enough to bring her
daddy's attention Dacey's way. They both glanced at the house, thenтАФlooking to see if the others had
noticed.