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

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He was discouraged enough to consider trying an-
other place, when he detected movement in the
branches and lianas above the natural cistern. He
risked edging forward, momentarily breaking the cam-
ouflage of his wavy green cloak. Yes, a definite
rustling, still well above the cubbleway, but traveling
downward.

Moving as little as possible, he shifted the snuffler
from its resting place. The meter-and-a-half-long tube
of green wood was six centimeters around at its back
end, narrowing to barely one at its tip. Gently he
slid it out on the hump of wood in front of him. It
rested there motionless, like a leafless twig. He sighted
it on the cistern. Reaching into the quiver slung across
his back under the cape, he pulled out one of the
ten-centimeter-long thorns it held. Holding it care-
fully by its fan-shaped tail end, where it had been
snapped from the parent plant, he slid it into the open
back end of the snufiler.

The sack slung next to the quiver produced a tank
seed. It was bright yellow, veined with black and
slightly bigger around than a man's fist. Its leathery
surface was taut as a drum. Bom eased it into the
back of the snuffler, then latched the backblock in
place. Above, the rustling had become a crashing and
bending of thick branches.

Wrapping his right hand around the pistollike trig-
ger and using the other to steady the long barrel,
he settled himself on the weapon, still as a statue.
Concentrating on the bromeliad, he strove to reach
out and become one with the plant.

See what a fair resting place I offer, he thought
tensely. How spacious this cubble limb, how broad
and tasty its companions, how clear and fresh and
cool the water I have caught so patiently just for you.
Come down to me and drink deep of my well!

A lost breeze blew, rifBing leaf tips on the bromeliad.
Bom held his breath and prayed it would not carry