"Kathleen O' Neal & Michael W. Gear - People 3 - People Of The Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Neal Kathleen)

warriors of the Broken Stone, the Wasp, the Black Point, Hollow Flute,
and Snow Bird clans lashed out each clan a burning stick whose very
numbers caused a conflagration across the north.

Sage Ghost's attention returned to the curious dwellings. These Earth
People might have been pocket gophers, the way they lived. Like the
shy rodent, they flung up a pile of dirt and lived below it. A lodge
made of earth? And dug into the
ground? How impossible to conceive. How did they think these people
who lived in the Earth Mother's breast? How could they keep from going
as crazy as a fly-ridden buffalo from never feeling the wind rock their
lodges, never being able to roll up the bottoms and peek out at the
world? Who would have thought that humans could live in such a way?

A yipping band of children popped one by one from the dark gape of a
doorway. Sage Ghost narrowed his eyes, studying the thin girl who ran
laughing with the little boys. A quickening of his heart matched a
curious lightheaded joy. Power stirred in the air around him.

The child!

He tensed, excitement pulsing with the blood in his veins. The Singers
would raise their voices in the winter lodges as they related the story
of Sage Ghost's Spirit Hunt.

The Traders had told the White Clay fantastic stories about the Earth
People for as long as Sage Ghost could remember. But to see them in
the flesh? Did Traders feel the way he did right now? Did they know
this sensation of wonder? Traders went everywhere, the magic of their
Trade protected by the Power of their wooden staffs. Sage Ghost
remembered wondrous nights around crackling camp fires when he'd eaten
foods made by the Earth People--shared those tastes and by doing so,
shared a bit of soul.

Is that what brought me here ? The Power of the Trade ? Is that where
the link was forged?

A curious elation possessed him. He had fondled the Earth People's
finely crafted bone-bead necklaces and breastplates, and admired their
skilled leather work dyed in purple, yellow, and red.

And they must know of us. For surely the Traders had told the Earth
People about the White Clay--and perhaps the bead makers had eaten
smoked-and-dried buffalo, moose, and elk jerky, the animals killed by
his own hand.

Is that the Power of Trade? Is it a sharing of Spirit and Soul? Do
all people, no matter how different, Trade pieces of themselves through
the things they make?