"Raymond E. Feist - Riftwar 1 - Magician2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

eyes darted about as he peered into each pool under the cliff face, seeking
the spiny creatures driven into the shallows by the recently passed storm.
His boyish muscles bunched under his light shirt as he shifted the sack of
sandcrawlers, rockclaws, and crabs plucked from this water garden. The
afternoon sun sent sparkles through the sea spray swirling around him, as
the west wind blew his sun-streaked brown hair about. Pug set his sack
down, checked to make sure it was securely tied, then squatted on a clear
patch of sand. The sack was not quite full, but Pug relished the extra hour
or so that he could relax. Megar the cook wouldn't trouble him about the
time as long as the sack was almost full. Resting with his back against a
large rock, Pug was soon dozing in the sun's warmth. A cool wet spray woke
him hours later. He opened his eyes with a start, knowing he had stayed
much too long. Westward, over the sea, dark thunderheads were forming above


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the black outline of the Six Sisters, the small islands on the horizon. The
roiling, surging clouds, with rain trailing below like some sooty veil,
heralded another of the sudden storms common to this part of the coast in
early summer.
To the south, the high bluffs of Sailor's Grief reared up against the sky, as
waves crashed against the base of that rocky pinnacle. Whitecaps started to
form behind the breakers, a sure sign the storm would quickly strike. Pug
knew he was in danger, for the storms of summer could drown anyone on the
beaches, or if severe enough, on the low ground beyond. He picked up his
sack and started north, toward the castle. As he moved among the pools, he
felt the coolness in the wind turn to a deeper, wetter cold. The day began
to be broken by a patchwork of shadows as the first clouds passed before
the sun, bright colors fading to shades of grey. Out to sea, lightning
flashed against the blackness of the clouds, and the distant boom of
thunder rode over the noise of the waves. Pug picked up speed when he came
to the first stretch of open beach.

The storm was coming in faster than he would have thought possible,
driving the rising tide before it. By the time he reached the second
stretch of tide pools, there was barely ten feet of dry sand between
water's edge and cliffs. Pug hurried as fast as was safe across the rocks,
twice nearly catching his foot. As he reached the next expanse of sand, he
mistimed his jump from the last rock and landed poorly. He fell to the
sand, grasping his ankle. As if waiting for the mishap, the tide surged
forward, covering him for a moment. He reached out blindly and felt his
sack carried away. Frantically grabbing at it, Pug lunged forward, only to
have his ankle fail. He went under, gulping water. He raised his head,
sputtering and coughing. He started to stand when a second wave, higher
than the last, hit him in the chest, knocking him backward. Pug had grown
up playing in the waves and was an experienced swimmer, but the pain of his
ankle and the battering of the waves were bringing him to the edge of
panic. He fought it off and came up for air as the wave receded. He half