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

inward, while high in a distant tree, a furlong or so away, the owl blinked
and turned its head northerly, and deadly talons gripped tightly, disputing
the lash of the branch.
And they waited.
Yet these two were not alone there in the Untended Lands, there
along the north face of the Grimwall Mountains, for something deadly
raced across the icy waste.
Perhaps the owl sensed it first, or mayhap the hareтАФwho can say?
Out from the north it came, there where the owl stared:
Dark shapes bobbing in the distance, obscured by the storm.
Nearing.
And an eighth of a mile north of the owl's tree, under the rock the
hare felt the vibrations, not the occasional shaking of this unstable land,
but a ragged drumming upon the ground:
Feet pounding, furred, clawed, racing southward, down from
the north. Killers.
In the thrashing branches the owl peered at the oncoming running
shapes, ready to take flight should the need arise.
More than one. Through the storm. Coming swiftly. Still
obscured.
The hare opened its eyes but made no other movements, relying
upon snow and white fur and utter stillness for protection.
Thudding paws. Many. A pack. Racing, running.
Onward they came, the owl watching.
Three of them. In a line. One after another. Long, flowing
shapes. Each with something large racing after.
And mingled in with the sound of the wind came strange cries and a
sharp cracking, and the ears of the hare twitched.
More than a pack. Several packs. Killers all. One after another.
Hammering. And something calling out.
Now the first was close enough for the owl to see.
Wolves, or the like. Running in a line. And behind, another pack.
Or so it seemed. And another pack after.
Past the hare's shelter they raced, mere yards away.
Flashing legs. Wolf legs. Killer legs. All running. Grey fur.
Black. And silver. Bound together. Running before something large.
Something gliding upon the snow.
One after another they passed the hiding place of the motionless
hare. First, nineteen racing animals, then another nineteen, and another.
And something crack! snapped in the air, and something called out Yah!
Yah! as they thundered past, killers running through the wind and snow
and hauling the gliding things after.
 And though they had hammered past and away and were gone, the
storm swallowing them up, still the hare remained motionless.
And a furlong beyond in the wind-tossed tree, the white I owl
watched as the three teams emerged from the whirl and hauled the sleds
across the frozen white, the drivers behind standing on the runners and
cracking their whips and urging the part-wolves, part-dogs onward, the
passengers on the sleds bundled against the chill.
The owl's head rotated 'round as they came on and past and away,