"Tara K. Harper - Wolfwalker 1 - Wolfwalker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harper Tara K)
Ember Dione maMarin:
Dark Flight
Oh, moons of mercy, moons of light Guide me in the darkest night Keep me safe from evil spirit Send
your blessed light to sear it
Oh, moons of mercy, moons of might If in shadow, dark, or night, My body die with evil near it Send
your light to guide my spirit
It was dark, and she could not see. She could not hear for the roaring in her ears, and she could not
move. Oh, moons of mercy, moons of light . . . She tried to spit out the panic but choked on grit and fur
and dirty blood. Guide me in the darkest night. . . Struggling, she dragged a breath into her lungs, and
then the fright that held her frozen burst and she screamed, the sound suffocating in the black death
above her. Keep me safe from evil spirit. . . The body that pinned her to the ground was too heavy; she
panicked and thrashed under it, straining back and forth to break free. Heat ate at her legs. She realized
then thatтАФoh, godsтАФthe roaring in her ears was fire. Send your blessed light to sear it . . . And then the
pain stabbed, rhythmically, with her pulse, throbbing, driving each second of terror deeper in her mind.
Fire ... A joint-ripping yank tore her free of the dead worlag, her ragged breathing punctuated by the
fire's crackling, while sobs racked her body and the tumbling brands spread the flames and fed her panic.
The worlag's body shifted again, rolling toward her, and she jerked back in horror. Moons of mercy,
were the dead rising to
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2 Tara K. Harper
claim her? But the sudden movement sent a black wash of pain over her head, and she could barely see
where the shadows of brush beckoned. With a silent scream against the agony, she slid into their sharp
embrace like a broken doll, her teeth bared to bite back her shriek and her breath still caught in her chest
from the frozen grip of fear. On the other side of the fire a worlag turned, its bulbous eyes searching.
There was blood on the soil, blood on its claws. It hesitated, and then a waft of throat-choking smoke
curled between them, hiding her where shadows of deep roots pressed against her back, steadying her as
the burning forest swallowed her body and the blackening waves swallowed her mind. All she saw, all
she heard, was the worlags tearing and snapping at the broken bodies and burning wagon, the flame-lit
canvas and clothes.
Pain. Burning, crushing pain. She crawled, cringing under the brush, clinging to the gray shadow of the
wolf that urged, carried, dragged her on. This way . . . through here . . . She could not focus her eyes, her
mind anymore. Wait. . . duck. . . There was blood on her hands, her clothes, her face. Hurry . . . The
roaring in her ears kept rhythm with the growls of bloated woiiags feasting in the obscenely dancing
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