"Tara K. Harper - Wolfwalker 1 - Wolfwalker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harper Tara K)

She lay still for a long time after the badgerbear had passed. At last, when a half hour had withered
away, she hooked her finger into the rough bark of the tree, then rolled onto her left knee.

"Moons have mercy," she gasped. Her breath strangled with the waves of speckled darkness that
pounded her head. SecondsтАФminutes?-тАФlater it cleared to dim patches, and she pulled herself up
against the tree and sagged, fresh blood spreading heat down the side of her face. It felt as if the only
thing that held her pounding head together was the silver band that circled her brow. Blue and silverтАФ
that was for the healer's bandтАФand gray, the color of wolves. She snorted and looked at her hands where
the dirt blackened her nails and her strong, shapely fingers were trembling and marred with blood.
Healer and wolfwalker, yes, but weak and sorry as a newborn pup. With her head resting listlessly
against the rough trunk of the tree, the woman stared down at the bloody gash that had laid her leg open
almost to her hip. It was a filthy wound. The dirt and blood had matted together to make a muddy scab
that floated on the open slash. Where the wor-lag's claw had reached through her guard, it had torn into
her skin like a knife splitting a ripe fruit, and she wondered vaguely if the gellbugs had started a nursery
in the wound already. It would be too ironic if she, a full-fledged healer, died from gellbugs after
surviving a worlag attack in which the guards and fighters had been killed.

She steeled herself to touch the jagged slash. She had treated too many ragged wounds to flinch from the
gash in her leg, but mis was the first time she'd had to treat herself, and she was not sure she had the guts
to do it without screaming or the stamina to finish it without fainting. Now, as she tried to bare her thigh
to see how bad the throbbing wound was, she stifled a groan. The leather of her leggings was stuck fast,
glued by clotting blood and dirt, and the herb pouches she groped for were not to be found. She must
have lost them in the fight the previous night. The fight . . . The worlag tore at her leg and she screamed,
and Rhom turned and went downтАФ"Oh, dear moons, help him," she whispered.

6 Tara K. Harper

She shook her head, then wished she had not when the dizzy blackness drew its vefl across her eyes
again. But she could not escape the images that crossed her closed eyes. Rhom's sword as it cut through
the worlag's casing. His face, eyes wide and flashing, as he went down under the monsters' claws. Dion
took a ragged breath. What's done is done is done, she thought, the words echoing like rocks bouncing
down a canyon's steep cliff. -Empty words. Rhotn! she cried out silently. Hishn, I need you.

The gray wolf answered like the touch of a leaf brushing against soft skin. It eased her anguish but left
the breath of her twin behind, too. Did she deny his death so much that she could not let him go? What
would she tell their father? She let her head tilt back against the tree, and the shaft of pain that lanced
through it brought her back to reality as abruptly as it had sent her into a pain-racked swoon a moment
earlier. How could she tell her father anything if she did not heal enough to survive the journey home?
She opened her eyes. As she tightened her jaw, she drew on the stubborn strength that had sustained her

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through the long night and regarded the open gash one more time, then braced herself against the rough
tree and pulled leather from the thickening scab. Only one gasp escaped her clenched teeth. When she
got enough material to dig her broken fingernails into the claw-slashed pants, she gripped the slippery
leather sternly and peeled the legging back. And fainted.

"Oh, gods . . ." she breathed unsteadily as she came to again. The fiery agony that shrieked in her leg