"Dan Parkinson - Dragonlance Tales 3 - Love and War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parkinson Dan)

loom, he was busy weaving a plot.
Then, in the evening, earlier than usual, he said, "I'm
tired. I think I'll turn in."
Petal, darning in a rocking chair near the fire, said, "All
right, Father. I'll put out the fire."
Aron stretched a phony stretch and went to his room.
But he had never been more awake. He crouched by his
bedroom window and peered out into the night air, waiting
for his daughter to leave the cottage.
He waited so long, though, that he nodded off for a
moment. When he stirred himself, he hurried into Petal's
room and saw that she had left. Nearly panic-stricken that
he had lost an opportunity, Aron grabbed his stick, a
lantern, and a net, and he hurried outside and passed
between the two tulip trees.
By the time he reached the pond, Petal was already
standing on its banks and calling toward the abandoned
beaver dam, "My love, my love, take me to your home."
Then she slipped off her gown and stepped into the water.
Aron waited. He wanted to catch both Petal and
whoever came to her. When the water reached Petal's neck,
her long fair hair floating behind her, Aron sprang out and
tossed the net across the water. But Petal dropped below too
quickly, and Aron pulled in only a turtle and two frogs. He
quickly lit his lantern and held it over the water. What he
saw below horrified him.
Just beneath the surface, but sinking ever deeper, was the
pale form of Petal, hand-in-hand with another being, a
shadowy creature made indistinct by both night and water.
Aron pressed so close to the water to see that his nose and
lantern went under, the flame extinguishing with a hiss. The
two forms disappeared.
Aron pulled back and sat on the bank near his
daughter's gown, which he took in his hand. His heart was
pounding, but this time he would remain calm. He fully
expected Petal to return. And this time he would be waiting
for her.
Alas, lulled by the croaking of the frogs, he fell asleep.
In the morning when he awoke, the gown was gone
from his hands. He dashed straight back to his cottage
where he found, sure enough, Petal curled up in her bed, the
puddles of water on the floor.
"How innocently you sleep there," muttered Aron, his
eyes asquint, "just like the little girl I once knew, eh? But
look here, these puddles belie that innocence. Well, sleep
soundly, my daughter, for you will be deceitful no more."
Aron left the room, knowing what he had to do. For one
more day, he would play the innocent. For one more day, he
would pretend he had nothing burdensome on his mind. He
even whistled again at his loom, which had the intended