"Doranna Durgin - Wolverine's Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Durgin Doranna)

And every morning, she found high ground. Staff in hand, the snow panther fur rippling at her shoulders
and the cloak belling gently away from her legs, Kelyn stood tall, unconcerned that the rising sun limned
her with light and painted her for all the world to see. She'd met nothing in this land worth hiding from.
She dangled the trouble dowser high in the air, waiting for it to do something other than sway in the
warming breeze, and not sure what that would be when it finally happened.

Maybe, she decided after a double handful of days, she used the needle incorrectly, or missed its subtle
signs, for surely in these outer lands of men like Busted Balls and Gort, there was trouble to be found on
a regular basis. Or maybe it wasn't worth anything anyway, and she should just follow her own nose for
trouble and see if it led to her father.

She needn't have concerned herself. On a morning of drizzling spring rain, with the cloak's fur sticking up
in spiky wet patches and her hand grateful for the leather grip on her staff, Kelyn blinked water from her
lashes to double check what she thought she sawтАФwhat shedid see. The needle strained away from her,
pulling her south. Across the border and into Atlia's unknown ways. Kelyn tucked the needle away and
shouldered the satchel, heading into trouble with a light in her eyes and a grin on her face.
***

As the drizzle ceased, she struck pony tracks in the rain-soft grasses, fresh and wide-spaced, and she
lengthened her own stride to match, the satchel bouncing on her shoulders, the staff skimming the grass.
The undulating ground rose before her, turning harderтАФAtlia's landтАФthe grass sparser, as she crested
the top of a hill and stopped short, surveying the scene laid out before herтАФthe pony, down, and two
panicked children frantically tugging at it. Coming in from a slightly different angle from Kelyn, hidden
from them by the sweep of the low hills, a rider cantered at them, his pace leisurely, his manner assured.

The childrenтАФa boy and a girlтАФgave up on their boldly spotted pony and started to runтАФand then,
realizing the futility of it, dove back for the pony, putting it between the rider and themselves.Split up!
Kelyn thought at them, but of course they weren't doing it, and wouldn't. Kelyn shed her cloak and pack
in one swift movement and charged down the hill behind the children, the noise of her approach lost in the
nearing hoofbeats. The man saw her; he leaned over his mount's neck and urged it forward, and it
became a race, fleet bare feet flying downhill against four pounding hooves.

Kelyn got there first. She leapt over children and pony both, startling shrieks from the children and
avoiding the pony's thrashing legs, and straightened into guard before them.

The rider pulled his horse up short, a wary but unconcerned eye on the staff. "These are mine," he said,
spitting the words out in harsh syllables; he held a coil of rope in the hand with the reins, a whip in the
other.
"They don't look like they want to be yours." Kelyn gave the staff a lazy turn, a promise of action.

"He's aтАФ" one of the children cried in a thin voice, but the name he used for the rider wasn't a word that
Kelyn knew. Her face must have shown it, for the man rested his hand against his saddle pommel, and
regarded her with less hostility.

It was the expression of a man who knew he could afford to be reasonable, because he expected to get
his way in the end. And he looked like a man used to getting his own way, for his horse was sleek and his
clothingтАФleather and well-tailored clothтАФhardly worn. Finely made gloves protected his hands from
rope and rein, and a well-oiled scabbard rode his hip.