"David Eddings - Belgariad 2 - Queen of Sorcery" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

"Your stockings, too," she added.

"Is the fog lifting at all?" Silk asked Mister Wolf.

"Not a chance."

"If I can persuade you all to move out from in front of the fire, I'll see
about supper," Aunt Pol told them, suddenly very businesslike. She began
setting out a ham, a few loaves of dark, peasant bread, a sack of dried
peas and a dozen or so leathery-looking carrots, humming softly to herself
as she always did when she was cooking.

The next morning after breakfast, Garion pulled on a fleece-lined overvest,
belted on his sword, and went back out into the fog-muffled ruins to watch
for Hettar. It was a task to which he had appointed himself, and he was
grateful that none of his friends had seen fit to tell him that it wasn't
really necessary. As he trudged through the slushcovered streets toward the
broken west gate of the city, he made a conscious effort to avoid the
melancholy brooding that had blackened the previous day. Since there was
absolutely nothing he could do about his circumstances, chewing on them
would only leave a sour taste in his mouth. He was not exactly cheerful
when he reached the low piece of wall by the west gate, but he was not
precisely gloomy either.

The wall offered some protection, but the damp chill still crept through
his clothes, and his feet were already cold. He shivered and settled down
to wait. There was no point in trying to see any distance in the fog, so he
concentrated on listening. His ears began to sort out the sounds in the
forest beyond the wall, the drip of water from the trees, the occasional
sodden thump of snow sliding from the limbs, and the tapping of a
woodpecker working on a dead snag several hundred yards away.

"That's my cow," a voice said suddenly from somewhere off in the fog.

Garion froze and stood silently, listening.

"Keep her in your own pasture, then," another voice replied shortly. "Is
that you, Lammer?" the first voice asked.

"Right. You're Detton, aren't you?"

"I didn't recognize you. How longs it been?"

"Four or five years, I suppose," Lammer judged.

"How are things going in your village?" Detton asked.

"We're hungry. The taxes took all our food."

"Ours too. We've been eating boiled tree roots."