"Laurell K. Hamilton - Meredith Gentry 5 - Mistral's Kiss" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

The animal raised its head, sniffing the air. It was a small pig, but its snout was longer, and its legs taller,
than those of any pig IтАЩd ever seen. Though it stood in the middle of the snowy field, there were no
hoofprints in that smooth snow, no way for the piglet to have walked to the center of the field. As if the
animal had simply appeared there.

I glanced at the circle of trees, for only a moment, and when I looked again at the piglet, it was bigger. A
hundred pounds heavier, and taller than my knees. I didnтАЩt look away again, but the pig just got bigger. I
couldnтАЩt see it happening, it was like trying to watch a flower bloom, but it was growing bigger. As tall at
the shoulder as my waist, long and broad, and furry. IтАЩd never seen a pig so fuzzy before, as if it had a
thick winter coat. It looked positively pettable, that pelt. It raised that strangely long-snouted face toward
me, and I saw tusks curving from its mouth, small tusks. The moment I saw them, gleaming ivory in the
snow light, another whisper of unease washed through me.

I should leave this place, I thought. I turned to walk out through that ring of trees. A ring of trees that
now looked entirely too even, too well planned, to be accidental.

A woman stood behind me, so close that when the wind blew through the dead trees her hooded cloak
brushed against the hem of my gown. I formed my lips to say, Who? but never finished the word. She
held out a hand that was wrinkled and colored with age, but it was a small, slender hand, still lovely, still
full of a quiet strength. Not full of the remnants of youthful strength, but full of the strength that comes only
with age. A strength born of knowledge accumulated, wisdom pondered over many a long winterтАЩs night.
Here was someone who held the knowledge of a lifetimeтАФno, several lifetimes.

The crone, the hag, has been vilified as ugly and weak. But that is not what the true crone aspect of the
Goddess is, and it was not what I saw. She smiled at me, and that smile held all the warmth you would
ever need. It was a smile that held a thousand fireside chats, a hundred dozen questions asked and
answered, endless lifetimes of knowledge collected and remembered. There was nothing she would not
know, if only I could think of the questions to ask.

I took her hand, and the skin was so soft, soft the way a babyтАЩs is. It was wrinkled, but smooth is not
always best, and there is beauty in age that youth knows not.

I held the croneтАЩs hand and felt safe, completely and utterly safe, as if nothing could ever disturb this
sense of quiet peace. She smiled at me, the rest of her face lost in the shadow of her hood. She drew her
hand out of mine, and I tried to hold on, but she shook her head and said, though her lips did not move,
тАЬYou have work to do.тАЭ

тАЬI donтАЩt understand,тАЭ I said, and my breath steamed in the cold night, though hers had not.

тАЬGive them other food to eat.тАЭ

I frowned. тАЬI donтАЩt understandтАжтАЭ

тАЬTurn around,тАЭ she said, and this time her lips did move, but still her breath did not color the night. It was
as if she spoke but did not breathe, or as if her breath were as cold as the winter night. I tried to
remember if her hand had been warm or cold, but could not. All I remembered was the sense of peace
and rightness. тАЬTurn around,тАЭ she said again, and this time I did.

A white bull stood in the center of the clearingтАФat least thatтАЩs what it looked like at first glance. Its
shoulder stood as tall as the top of my head. It must have been more than nine feet long. Its shoulders