"Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 1 - Midworld" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

would eye her thin wrapping of leafleather and forget
everything else.

"You're laughing at me," she protested angrily.
"Don't laugh at me!" Naturally, that encouraged him
to laugh even more.




"Losting," she said with dignity, "doesn't laugh at

me."
That shut him up quickly. "What does it matter

what Losting does?" he shot back challengingly.

"It matters to me."
"Huh . . . well." Something had suddenly gone

wrong somewhere. This wasn't working out the way
he had imagined it would, the way he had planned

it. Somehow it never did.

He looked around the silent village. A few of the
older people had stared out at him when he had re-
turned. Now that the novelty of his survival had
worn off, they had returned to their household
tasks. Most of the active adults, naturally, were off
hunting, gathering edibles, or keeping the Home
clear of parasites. The anticipated adulation had never
materialized. He had risked his life, then, to return
to a cluster of curious children and to the indifference
of Brightly Go. His earlier euphoria vanished.

"I'll clean the pelt for you, anyway," he grumbled.
"Come on, Ruumahum." He turned and stalked angrily
off toward the other side of the village. Behind him
Brightly Go's face underwent a series of contortions
expressing a broad spectrum of emotions. Then she
turned and went back inside her parent's compound.

Ruumahum let out a snort of relief when the dead-
weight was finally untied and he could shake it from
his back. Whereupon he walked directly to his comer
in the large single room, lay down, and entered
that region most beloved of all furcots.