"Michael McCollum - Who Will Guard the Guardians" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCollum Michael)

Fria noted with a pang that the collie mix among the strays was a pregnant bitch. She shivered beneath
her woolen shirt, hoping that they would be gone before the bitch's time came.

Inside the stone house, it was cold. It was always cold. She did not mind, for the cold was her
preservative. She could barely remember when being warm had been one of the natural conditions of
life. The house was also dark as the light of day faded outside. She cured that problem by lighting an oil
lamp. As usual, what few furnishings she had were well hidden by the clutter - tattered and yellowing
books, scattered sheets of foolscap with scrawls of lumpy, homemade ink on them, her lounging cats. At
the thought of her cats, her eyes sought out Pounce's customary position.

The cat's tail could be seen protruding from beneath an impromptu tent of old magazines. Pounce was
the one constant in Fria's life, and she loved the animal dearly despite the cat's lazy, ungrateful attitude
toward life. Pounce was also the last link she had to the long departed world of her youth.

"Here, Pounce!"

The tabby's head lifted slowly from the pile of magazines, as though to reproach Fria for disturbing her
sleep. Pounce yawned, seemed to debate with herself on whether rising to her feet was worth the effort,
and then arched her back as only a cat can. She walked to the edge of Fria's ancient desk and waited.
Fria reached out to scratch behind the cat's ears. After a short pause, she was rewarded by the deep
rumble of Pounce's purring.

"You're slowing down, cat. Can you finally be getting old after only 400 years?"

Fria chuckled at her feeble joke and wondered what the villagers would say if they had overheard it. At
the thought of the village and its inhabitants, the smile faded from her lips.

Fria did not tolerate people and allowed herself very little contact with others. She deemed the villagers
to be irritating fools, and had little reason to believe the rest of humanity was any better. Occasionally
they would send pilgrims up the long trail to the top of the mountain. They would bring offerings that she
would grudgingly bless. Once, long ago, she had tried to help them. However, the effort had been
fruitless.

Like the houses of the village, her home was without electricity. This had not bothered her for a long
time. One large room held a fireplace where she cooked and spent most of her time. A small bedroom
in the rear was separated from the main room by a ragged woolen blanket hung from the ceiling. A
sleeping loft completed her domicile.

Fria ate her meal sparingly and gave most of it to the dogs that waited patiently outside. After the collie
mix had gulped down a bowl of curdled goat's milk, Fria found herself scratching the base of the bitch's
ears. She could not figure out why she cared. Maybe it was because she remembered what dogs had
been like before...

She brought her thoughts back to the present with a start. She'd let her grasp on reality slip again. She
knelt over the bitch, running her hand over its distended belly. A tiny lump moved beneath her fingers.
She pulled her hand away as though it had rested on a hot stove. The sudden movement caused the
collie to yelp and run for its companions.

"Sorry," Fria said, sighing. She turned to go inside and then glanced back at the dogs, tears welling in her
eyes. "At least you have each other."