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

He mumbled a curse under his breath as she sank teeth into the palm of
his hand; then she began to kick and squirm, her screams throttled. He
picked her up as if she were a struggling antelope fawn and walked out
into the lazy water. She battered at him, flailing against his side as
he clamped her to him and started down the channel.

"Hush," he whispered in a soothing voice. "I won't hurt you. I'm
taking you north, to a new home, to people who will love you."

She wrenched this way and that, muffled sounds coming from her throat.
He could feel the terror in her desperate struggles. She threw herself
back, twisting, trying to break free.
"Here, quiet. You can't get away--not from Sage Ghost. You've been
promised to me. You will become a great Spirit Woman--a Soul
Flier--among the White Clay. I know it. A man of fire came from the
sky and told me."

She relaxed slightly in his arms, panting her fear against the back of
his hand.

Sage Ghost jumped as a wolf howled prophetically into the night.
Chapter 1

Such a terrible winter.

White Ash leaned forward, face pinching as cramped and knotted muscles
strained in her back. She peered across the fire at the pile of hides
covering Bright Moon's body. The draft that sneaked in around the
lodge skirts created patterns in the thick bed of glowing red coals and
cast a ruby light over the inside of the lodge. She could see Bright
Moon's face; her mother finally slept.

My mother? Curious. I can hardly remember my life before Sage Ghost
stole me from the Three Forks camp. I belong here, among the White
Clay people, now. Owlclover might have borne me--but Bright Moon loved
me more. White Ash rubbed a nervous hand over her face and looked at
the old woman who now slept so fitfully. And all I can do is sit here
and watch her die.

"Thank you for everything, Bright Moon," she whispered softly in
sorrow. If only Sage Ghost hadn't left with the other men in a
desperate attempt to find game. She closed her eyes, grief a physical
pain, like a gnashing of teeth in her chest. Bright Moon would be dead
before he returned.

For eight winters White Ash had lived with the White Clay. Of those
years, the first six had been wonderful. As she'd grown, she'd learned
the ways and language of the Sun People. The White Clay had moved
south from the Bug River, all the way to the Fat Beaver, to avoid the