"Dennis L. McKiernan - Mithgar - Eye of the Hunter" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKiernan Dennis L)

call." And he stepped out into the windblown snow. The other two
Aleutans also took a chunk of salmon apiece and followed B'arr outside.
They were each heading to their lead dogs, for as Gwylly, Faeril,
Riatha, and Aravan had come to learn since setting forth some twelve
days past, some six hundred miles agone, the lead dog of each team was
the first to be fed, the last to be harnessed, and the first to be
unharnessed. Each was the dominant dog in its team, in its span, and the
sledmaster maintained that status by treating the lead dog with the
deference that was its due, and by displaying that treatment to all the
other dogs in the team.
As B'arr had explained in his broken Pellarion: "Life depend on
span. Span depend on lead. Lead depend on sledmaster. I am pack
leader, Shlee is span leader. His life in my hands, my life in his. I treat
him as leader, he treat me as master. All dog see. All understand. All
stay alive All dog. Shlee. Me."
After but a moment or so, B'arr's whistle sounded above the storm.
Gwylly, dragging two bags of cut salmon, and Faeril, hauling one,
stepped out through the doorway and into the whirling snow. And after
a moment there sounded the yipping and yammering of excited dogs.



The storm abated sometime after nightfall, and the Moon rose argent
in the clearing sky.
And in the night Faeril awakened to see Riatha standing in the
moonlight, her silver gaze turned upward. Faeril, too looked up and out,
her sight flying through the open roof. And her heart ran chill. For high in
the silent vault above, she could see the Eye of the Hunter, its long, fiery
tail streaming across the spangled sky.



Chapter 3
Faeril

Early Summer, 5E985
[Three Years Past]



"Ooo, the Eye of the Hunter!" exclaimed Lacey, looking up from the
small leather-bound journal. "Sounds positively ominous. What is it?"
Faeril paused, balancing the throwing knife in her hand, and glanced
over her shoulder at the ginger-haired dam-man. "Just keep reading,
Lacey," she said, then turned and whipped her arm forward and down,
the steel glittering as it tumbled through the air to thunk! into the wood
next to the other blades.
As Faeril strode toward the fallen log to retrieve her knives, Lacey
returned to the finely wrought script, one hand straying out and fumbling
about upon the picnic cloth to find her cup, her eyes never leaving the