"Alan F. Troop - Dragon Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Troop Alan F)

Henri shoves the other dogs away from him, then turns and holds up his left arm so I can see the red
teeth marks of the dog's bite, the blood running down his arm. From the expression on his face, I'm not
sure whether he's showing me because he's proud or because he needs my sympathy."Poor you," I
mindspeak to him."Do you want me to guide you, help you heal?"

My son shakes his head."No, Papa," he mindspeaks."I'm too big for that now. I'm almost four.
Look, Papa!"

He keeps his arm up so I can watch. Henri stares at the red puncture wounds on his forearm, frowns,
knits his eyebrows and I grin at the concentration evident on his face. One day he'll be able to heal an
injury as minor as this with a moment's thought.

The bleeding stops. The wounds turn from red, to pink, to normal flesh color, and Henri smiles again.
"See?" he mindspeaks. "I told you I could."

"You're growing up, son,"I say, frowning at the concept. A year ago he would have taken refuge in my
lap and moaned while I nudged his mind toward the thoughts that could ease his pain and heal his wound.

Ready to move on, Henri waves at me with a clenching and unclenching of his chubby right hand. I smile,
wave and watch him go over the top of the dune to the beach on the other side. Then I turn and go back
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to my chores.

It makes me chuckle when I think how many people assume it's easy to live on an island. How idyllic
they imagine such a life to be. But on an island such as ours, life is anything but simple.

Sandwiched between theAtlantic OceanandMiami'sBiscayne Bay, surrounded by salt water on all sides,
oursmall islandтАФCaya DelaSangre, as my family calls it, or Blood Key as it's named on the chartsтАФis in
a constant state of erosion and decay. Wind and tide attack the shores relentlessly. Salt air penetrates
everything.

As I weed, I mentally catalog all my chores. Besides working in the garden, maintainingElizabeth's grave
and straightening out the cavernous interior of our coral house every day, I have to spend my time going
from machine to machine. I lubricate and repair generators and motors, fight rust where it appears and
recharge batteries. Other regular chores include painting, replacing rotted planks of wood, making sure
the well pumps remain primed, keeping the reserve water in the cistern fresh and servicing the twin
Yamaha outboards on the boat so they function as they should.

Keeping supplied presents its own difficulties. All materials have to be brought by boat fromMiami, just
over the horizon, to our west. Since I trust no one to visit but Ar-turo, I've taught only him the twists and
turns of the narrow channel that leads to our harbor. He alone is responsible for bringing all of our
supplies, including frozen meat, from the mainland.

Since Henri's far too young to help, fresh food is entirely my responsibility. Our kind prefers fresh meat
and whenever we feel the need for it, I have to go off on a hunt. Not that hunting is ever a hardship. It's
what my people do.