"Books - David Eddings - Polgara the Sorceress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

You aren't going to hurt me, are you? I'll fly away if you try, you
know.'
'N-no,' I stammered. 'I won't hurt you.'
'Good. Then we can talk. Did you happen to see any seeds on
your way here?'
'I don't think so. I wasn't really looking for seeds, though.'
'You should learn to watch for them. My mate has three babies
back at the nest, and I'm supposed to be out looking for seeds to
feed them. What's that on your sleeve?'
I looked at the sleeve of my smock. 'It seems to be a seed of some
kind - grass, probably.'



'Well, don't just stand there. Give it to me.'
I picked the seed off my sleeve and held it out to him. He hopped
off the side of the Tree and perched on my finger, his head cocked
and his bright little eye closely examining my offering. 'It's grass,
all right,' he agreed. Then he actually seemed to sigh. 'I hate it when
all there is to eat is immature grass-seed. It's early in the season,
and those seeds are so tiny right now.' He took the seed in his beak.
'Don't go away. I'll be right back.' Then he flew off.
For a few moments I actually thought I'd been dreaming. Then
my sparrow came back, and there was another one with him. 'This
is my mate,' he introduced her to me.
'Hello, Polgara,' she said. 'Where did you find that seed? My
babies are very hungry.'
'It must have caught on my sleeve up near the top of that hill,' I
ventured.
'Why don't we go up there and have a look,' she suggested,
brazenly settling on my shoulder. The first sparrow followed his
mate's lead and perched on my other shoulder. All bemused by this
miracle, I turned and started back up the grassy hill.
'You don't move very fast, do you?' The first sparrow noted
critically.
'I don't have wings,' I replied.
'That must be awfully tedious.'
'It gets me to where I'm going.'
'As soon as we find those seeds, I'll introduce you to some of the
others,' he offered. 'My mate and I'll be busy feeding the babies for
a while.'
'Can you actually talk to other kinds of birds?' That was a startling
idea.
'Well,' he said deprecatingly, 'sort of. The larks always try to be
poetic, and the robins talk too much, and they're always trying to
shoulder their way in whenever I find food. I really don't care that
much for robins. They're such bullies.'
And then a meadowlark swooped in and hovered over my head.
'Whither goest thou?' he demanded of my sparrow.
'Up there,' the sparrow replied, cocking his head toward the