"Scott G. Gier - Genellan 02 - In the Shadow of the Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gier Scott G)

She looked down at Ki and displayed flat, blunt teethтАФa smile.
Short-one-who-leads turned to Giant-one, whose great form was blocking
the muted sun. She took the whelp wrapped in furs and held it tenderly to
her yielding bosom. The whelp's cries lessened but did not stop.

Ki stepped forward, holding out her arms. Gasps emanated from guilders
and hunters alike. Short-one-who-leads, showing teeth, bent over and placed
the whelp in Ki's arms.

"Pheeee," Ki whistled, squatting to the ground and supporting the
squirming mass of furless whelp in her bony lap. The pink nestling cried
with increased fervor, red-faced and wide-mouthed, drowning out the
protestations of the guilders. In one quick motion the huntress drew an
obsidian knife and placed its cold blade against the child's neck. Ki whistled
softly and slipped a bony knuckle into the babe's mouth; the screams
ceased, leaving only the gasps and distressed chirps of guilders. Ki looked
up and hissed, displaying rows of sharp, white teeth. Even Notta was taken
aback.

But the whelp was silent. Ki opened her thin robe and pulled the child to
her fur-covered breast, pressing a knuckle into its mouth. Two sharp pearls
protruded from its gums, but Ki could feel other points of bone, nascent
teeth, sharp edges under inflamed skin. Ki gently rubbed the tender tissue.
The long-legs nestling turned in her arms and looked at her, dark blue eyes
blinking owlishly. It exhaled a stuttering sigh and snuggled to her pap, its
small hand pulling on her soft fur.

"Amazing," the elder Toobe said. "What medicine is this?"

"It teethes," Ki said softly.

"It grows teeth!" the elder Craat exclaimed.

"Ah," Toobe said. "There is much to learn."

"There is much to teach," Ki replied.
 FOUR
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS
┬л^┬╗
Bare-chested, Tatum erupted from the tent, his good arm brutalizing the
twisted sleeve of his coat. Long hair fell loose around his bearded head.
Yawns and curses burst in steamy condensation from the sun-bleached
tangle of carrot red. It was chilly even for Tatum, but then, it was spring and
he was on a ridge high above the east rim of MacArthur's Valley. Bare feet
crunched frosty grass as he pushed his magnificent limb through the sleeve
and struggled to fasten wooden buttons, closing the elkskin across the rusty
thatch matting his massive chest. The freckled man sat on the fire-pit stones.
He pulled on a pair of dirty socks and yanked on battered handcrafted
boots.