"George R. R. Martin - Ice Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

It had breathed upon the water, and now the river was frozen, or at
least a part of it was, although one could see that the ice was fast melting
as the summer sun rose. It had breathed upon the green grass that grew along
the banks, grass as high as Adara, and now the tall blades were white and
brittle, and when the ice dragon moved its wings the grass cracked in half and
tumbled, sheared as clean as if it had been cut down with a scythe.
The dragon's icy eyes met Adara's, and she ran to it and up its wing,
and threw her arms about it. She knew she had to hurry. The ice dragon looked
smaller than she had ever seen it, and she understood what the heat of summer
was doing to it.
"Hurry, dragon," she whispered. "Take me away, take me to the land of
always-winter. We'll never come back here, never. I'll build you the best
castle of all, and take care of you, and ride you every day. Just take me
away, dragon, take me home with you."
The ice dragon heard and understood. Its wide translucent wings
unfolded and beat the air, and bitter arctic winds howled through the fields
of summer. They rose. Away from the cave. Away from the river. Above the
forest. Up and up. The ice dragon swung around to the north. Adara caught a
glimpse of her father's farm, but it was very small and growing smaller. They
turned their back to it, and soared.
Then a sound came to Adara's ears. An impossible sound, a sound that
was too small and too far away for her to ever have heard it, especially above
the beating of the ice dragon's wings. But she heard it nonetheless. She heard
her father scream.
Hot tears ran down her cheeks, and where they fell upon the ice
dragon's back they burned small pockmarks in the frost. Suddenly the cold
beneath her hands was biting, and when she pulled one hand away Adara saw the
mark that it had made upon the dragon's neck. She was scared, but still she
clung. "Turn back," she whispered. "Oh, _please_, dragon. Take me back."
She could not see the ice dragon's eyes, but she knew what they would
look like. Its mouth opened and a blue-white plume issued, a long cold
streamer that hung in the air. It made no noise; ice dragons are silent. But
in her mind Adara heard the wild keening of its grief.
"Please," she whispered once again. "Help me." Her voice was thin and
small.
The ice dragon turned.
The three dark dragons were outside of the barn when Adara returned,
feasting on the burned and blackened carcasses of her father's stock. One of
the dragonriders was standing near them, leaning on his lance and prodding his
dragon from time to time.
 He looked up when the cold gust of wind came shrieking across the
fields, and shouted something, and sprinted for the black dragon. The beast
tore a last hunk of meat from her father's horse, swallowed, and rose
reluctantly into the air. The rider flailed his whip.
Adara saw the door of the farmhouse burst open. The other two riders
rushed out, and ran for their dragons. One of them was struggling into his
pants as he ran. He was barechested.
The black dragon roared, and its fire came blazing up at them. Adara
felt the searing of heat, and a shudder went through the ice dragon as the
flames played along its belly. Then it craned its long neck around, and fixed