"Roger Taylor - Nightfall 1 - Farnor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

all ills.

And yet, as he turned and began to walk up the valley again, he could still feel the shadow of the unease
to which he had wakened. He had a faint memory of strange voices talking all around him . . . talking
about him. The sound of the trees intruding into his half dreams, he presumed, but . . .

Almost angrily, he drove the end of his staff into the soft turf in an attempt to dispel once and for all the
darkness that seemed reluctant to leave him. It hadnтАЩt been the wisest of things to do, he supposed, going
to sleep up here. Especially not with something worrying the sheep.

тАШSomeoneтАЩs dog gone wild,тАЩ had been the usual opinion of the villagers to such happenings on the few
occasions that Farnor had known them in the past; an opinion that was invariably proved correct after
some judicious night-watching and trap-laying. The brighter sparks in the village would even take wagers
on whose dog it was liable to be.

But it was different this time, for though only a few sheep had been worried, the damage to them had
been massive and the traditional conclusion had been spoken hesitantly and in subdued and anxious
tones. Then, like a mysterious creak in an empty house, Farnor caught a whisper of the word тАШbearтАЩ.
Somewhat awkwardly, he put it to his father, only to receive a confident shake of the head and a
lip-curling dismissal of the author of the suggestion.

тАШAle-topersтАЩ talk. Berries, grubs, the odd fish, thatтАЩs all bears eat unless theyтАЩre desperate. TheyтАЩve little
taste for meat and generally sense enough to keep well away from people.тАЩ

тАШThey say you can get rogue bears,тАЩ Farnor offered. тАШBears that have . . .тАЩ

His father cut across the tale with his final verdict:

тАШThe only rogues around here are those who should be working in the fields instead of swilling ale during
the day and filling peopleтАЩs heads with nonsense.тАЩ Though he added, reassuringly, тАШItтАЩs just a big dog
gone wild, thatтАЩs all, Farnor. Probably from over the hill somewhere.тАЩ

From over the hill. The anonymous beyond. Where lived outsiders; people who werenтАЩt тАШourтАЩ people
and who must necessarily be odd and thus quite capable of allowing large dogs to run wild and escape.

Nevertheless, and with a deliberate casualness, his father had from that time insisted that his son take a
particularly stout staff with him whenever, as today, he was to go any distance up the valley.

As he moved further from the trees the last vestiges of FarnorтАЩs unease fluttered away. Unconsciously he
patted his knife in its rough sheath, then, impulsively, be swung his staff around in a whistling arc.

He began to daydream. His mind ran ahead along his journey. He would come to his favourite spot near
the head of the valley and there sit down to eat the food his mother had prepared for him. Then, just as
he was about to eat, he would notice bloodstains trailing across the ground. He would follow them and
soon come to their source: the mangled body of a sheep. Almost before he would be able to react
however, there would be a rustling in the nearby undergrowth and the culprit would emerge, charging
towards him at full tilt: a huge hound, wild-eyed and ferocious, with bloodstained foam spraying from its
snarling mouth.

A great battle would then ensue in which only FarnorтАЩs skill with his staff would save him from the