"Tara K. Harper - Wolfwalker 5 - Silver Moons, Black Steel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harper Tara K)

deserve every bruise they acquire. Pain is an excellent teacher.тАЭ
DionтАЩs eyes went carefully blank. тАЬYou can learn too many lessons that
way.тАЭ
тАЬAnd learn some not at all,тАЭ he said meaningfully.
She looked up sharply. Batayon met her gaze, and the silent message
passed. Feel pain, face pain, beat pain. The words of one of her old
Randonnen teachers echoed in BatayonтАЩs brown eyes. She smiled
crookedly. тАЬI hear you,тАЭ she said without rancor.
He studied her as she gazed out at the class. Her complexion was slightly
flushed with the exertion. Her braided black hair was fuzzy where the
shorter strands had come loose, and she tightened its length almost absently
with hands that still wanted to tremble. Her body was not wiry, but slender
and lithe from a dozen years of riding and running trail, and the fading claw
marks on the left side of her face were a coarse reminder of the other savage
scars that had cut more deeply, giving her a limp she could not hide. She
might have the speed of the wolves in her arms, but she had lost much of
her own physical strength, and half her sparring movements had been to
redirect, not oppose or attack Batayon. Had she been whole, the strength of
the wolves would have added to, not replaced, her own, and he suspected
she would have thrown him much sooner, much harder, and with much
more damage. She had lived in danger too long to fully pull back the intent
of her strikes when the wolves entered her head. As it was, considering the
rumors about her, he was lucky to have gotten her to spar at all.
There were always rumors about the wolfwalkers. They could hear with the
ears of the wolves, see in the dark, smell danger before it struck. They

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Silver Moons, Black SteelтАФHarper, Tara K - Wolf 05


fought like wilderness rearing up against order, not like a human who
touched the wild. It was said that, with each passing decade, wolfwalkers
lost more of their humanity. Batayon nodded to himself as he studied
DionтАЩs stance. Sometimes myth was true.
Ember Dione maMarinтАФor Dion to her friendsтАФhad moved beyond rumor
into living legend. She had been trained since early childhood as a healer,
and she had achieved her master rating a year before she bonded with the
wolf Gray Hishn. Since then, her reputation as a healer and wolfwalker had
somehow achieved its own life. Now she was a tracker who could follow a
tree sprit through the very air, a scout who could ghost through any forest, a
wolfwalker who could Call any wolf to her side, a healer whose patients
were not touched by death. She was a woman who had fought a dozen
raiders to try to save her mate, and a mother who had fought a thousand
lepa with her bare hands to try to save her son. She was the Gray Wolf of
Ramaj Randonnen, the Heart of Ramaj Ariye. And if he believed the
songsters, she could dance steel with the best of the swordsmen, shoot
rapids like a war bolt, and climb even the sheer north face of Dountuell by
herself, on a windy day, over the iceтАФbarefoot. Batayon snorted to himself.
Aye, she was a rock climber, a fighter, a kayaker, a scout, but so were
almost all Randonnens who had grown up in that countyтАЩs northern peaks.