"Charles Coleman Finlay - A Democracy of Trolls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Finley Charles Coleman)

CHARLES COLEMAN FINLEY

A DEMOCRACY OF TROLLS

"LET GO."
Windy tugged her shoulder free from Ragweed's grip, cradling the baby
protectively between her milk-heavy breasts and the wall of the cave. "No."
"We took a vote and voted you should put the baby down."
"Mosswater is dead, so his vote doesn't count."
"That's true. Mosswater is dead," Ragweed said flatly, remarkably unmoved by
his brother's demise. He ground his jaw so hard the big flat teeth in back
squeaked.
The sound annoyed Windy. She turned to snap at him and saw his face darken
with a new idea.
"But the baby's dead too!" he said triumphantly. "That's why you should let go
of it."
"Let's have another vote."
Ragweed smiled, showing off his gray, cracked teeth. "That's a idea. All those
in favor of you putting down the dead baby?" He raised his hand. "And those
against?"
Windy raised hers. "It's a tie. So I can do what I want."
"Hey! Wait a moment--"
Before he could protest, she stood up and leaned forward on one long-armed
knuckled hand. The Sun had just sunk low enough so they could go outside
again. She left the overhung ledge of the cave, pressing past the tree and
through the overgrown shrubs. Leaves wet from a night and day of rain brushed
against her, and water ran in little rivulets down her back, filling the
cracks in her skin. She lifted her head into the branches to inhale the sharp
clean scent of the pine needles. Droplets rolled over the hard angles of her
cheeks in place of the tears she refused to cry.
Windy walked to her favorite open spot on the slope in the long shadow of the
mountain's sheltering spur. From there she peered over the pines into the
meadow below, and, surrounded by shade, watched the last light flow out of the
valley. Uncheered by the dying Sun, she rocked the baby in the crook of her
massive arm.
She glanced up to the mouth of the cave. Ragweed dug in the dirt with his big
knobby fingers, then shoved his hands into his mouth. The soil was rich in
spots where leaves and needles piled deep enough to decay and the rain sent
worms swimming toward the surface. That had to be what Ragweed ate. Windy
stirred the compost with fingerlike toes and a fat red wriggly worm squirmed
out. She left it alone. She had no appetite.
Ragweed turned his head in her direction, wrinkled his nose, and snorted.
"It's already starting to stink!"
She smelled it too. Her nose was sensitive to the scent of dead things, a main
part of her diet. She knew her baby was starting to rot even though it had
been dead less than a day. "I like the way she smells! And I'm not putting her
down!"
Ragweed shrugged, then resumed his digging.
Windy stared at the little forlorn creature limp in her arms. She had been
such a lively baby, so adventuresome, afraid of nothing. Hardly feared