"Tara K. Harper - Wolfwalker 2 - Shadow Leader" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harper Tara K)

reached the top of the hill.
But to her surprise, Aranur shook his head. "I'm sorry,
Dion," he said quietly. "I'm pushing too hard."
Her burning legs made her want to rub them until they
stopped screaming at her, but she stood straight. "It's not as if
I'm not used to running the hills, Aranur."
He looked her over carefully, noting the shadows of exhaus-
tion under her eyes and the lean, almost gaunt way her cheek-
bones were pronounced in her clear face. There was only
muscle on her long, slender legs, and her tunic hung loosely
beneath her stolen leather mail. As she caught her breath,
Aranur wondered again at the bond of the wolves. Few could
take the strain of scouting as Dion had done for him and his
group. Did the Gray Ones give her strength of will as well as
the use of their senses? He shook his head and met her eyes.
"You've been driving as hard as any of us, Dion. And you've
been out scouting with Hishn every night for the last two
ninans while the others caught extra sleep. You've had even
less rest than I."
She took a last deep breath and shifted her sword forward on
her hip. "As you said," she returned, "we're close to the
border of Bilocctar. We can't afford to be seen."
"You'll be less use to yourself and to us if you're worn
out."
The wolfwalker flushed slowly. "Is that Aranur the weapons
master speaking, or Aranur the man?"
He gave her a strange look. "Perhaps both."
It was Dion who turned away first, the flush fading so that
only two high, red spots were left on her cheeks. Hishn, who
panted and sniffed the air around them, fell in beside Dion as
the woman silently picked up Aranur's pace and followed along
the trail.
Breathe, step, step. Half a kilometer passed. Then another.
They had to be getting close to Gamon and the others, though
it would take Dion and Aranur longer than Dion had at first
thought. Her feet padded quietly on the dirt in their worn boots,
but her legs were again numb. The pouches of herbs at her belt
made a soft syncopation with her stride until it was thrown off
as she clambered over a set of logs. Hishn brushed through the
branches like a ghost, and Dion ducked after. Her ankle twisted
again. It nearly threw her, but she caught herself like a thought
and ignored the shooting pain, knowing that it, like the other
aches, would dull in a few moments and disappear.
Breathe, step, step. Hishn snorted softly and faded into the
brush, and the taste of dust clung suddenly to Dion's tongue.
The wolfwalker spit to the side, clearing her mouth and mind
of Hishn's images. Only the gray thread of their bond held
strongly between them.
She crossed a shallow gully. Her legs burned and her lungs
ached for deeper breaths as she forced herself to plod up the