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

Orith had cleaned the dark grume from the wound and treated it with
a poultice of summer julemint, perhaps saving the babe's life, for Orith
suspected that the blade which had made the cut had been poisoned.
Then Orith had made straight for home, driving the mules throughout the
remainder of the day and that night as well, arriving the following morn.
Nelda had replaced the poultice with another, tending the youngling
day after day, sleeping at his bedside. And when the wee one's mind
had cleared and he could talk, in his tiny, piping voice he had told them
of the bad ones who had come in the night and had killed his sire and
dam. He did know his given name, Gwylly, but not his last. Too, he
knew not the names of his parents, calling them only Mother and Father.
A week or so later, when Orith returned to the wreckage of the
campsite to bury the slain, he had found among the pitifully few
salvageable things a sling and pouch of slingstones, and two diaries ... or
journals: one old, one new. Leaving two graves behind, Orith had
returned to his stead, bearing all that remained of the memory of
Gwylly's parents. The youngling yet abed had claimed the sling and
stones, saying that they had belonged to his sire. Then he asked where
the "shiny" ones were. What this implied neither Orith nor Nelda could
fathom, and Gwylly could not tell them what he meant. And the journals
had been of no help, for neither Man nor Woman could read aught of
the language scribed thereinтАФthough after close inspection Orith
declared that the new one appeared to be a copy of the old.
And when baby Gwylly was on his feet again, healthy once more,
neither childless Orith nor barren Nelda could give him up. . . .



Twilight had come unto the steading, Gwylly, Nelda, and Orith
having just finished their supper, Black asleep in the corner. Windows
were open, and the trilling and croaking of the creek frogs drifted in
through the still night air. Orith was speaking of shoeing the mules the
next day.
Of a sudden Black lifted up his head, his ears cocking this way and
that. Then he stood and trotted to the front window, rising up on his hind
legs, his forepaws upon the sill. His tail began wagging, and he dropped
back to the floor, his claws clicking as he went to the door.
Jumping down from his chair, Gwylly, too, stepped to the door, just
as a soft knock sounded, and Black gave out with a short yip.
Gwylly raised the latch and opened the door and found himself
peering straight into the most beautiful golden eyes he'd ever seen.
The eyes of one of his own Kind.
The eyes of a damman.
She smiled. "Gwylly? Gwylly Fenn?"
Gwylly's mouth dropped open, and he could do nought but stutter.
The damman looked at this tongue-tied young buccan stammering
before her, and at the two Humans behind. "Oh, I do hope you are
Gwylly, the one I seek, for I've had a troublesome time finding you.
"I am Faeril Twiggins, and I've come about the prophecy."