"Elizabeth Vaughan - Chronicles Of The Warlands 02 - Warsworn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vaughan Elizabeth)

figure out that I'd been lied to by Xymund, my late half-brother. But I felt so very stupid and
silly. Like a spoiled child with a broken toy.

Just how could I tell anyone how miserable I was? Fire-landers already had a fairly low opinion
of soft city folk, and if I started complaining it would only strengthen their beliefs.

I shifted my weight slightly and gripped Prest around the waist, trying to get comfortable. At
least this much had improved. The first five days I'd ached so badly I'd thought to die.
Spending day after day in the saddle had wearied my body in ways I didn't think possible.

"Gurt?" Prest held up a soft pouch.

"No," I replied softly, trying not to shudder as my stomach heaved. "Thank you."

Prest grunted and popped a morsel in his mouth.
'Gurt' is a kind of dried cheese, apparently made from some kind of goat-like animal. It looks
like a small white pebble, which can be chewed, dissolved in water to drink, or melted over
meat. Firelanders eat it at every meal. It stores easily, and never seems to spoil. They all carry
a pouch of the stuff with them. While I had gotten to enjoy the taste of their kavage, gurt was
another matter. It's horrid, bitter and dry, like a green apple in early spring. It was especially
bad when they melted it over cooked meat.

An army on the move has a limited diet. At every meal, it was cooked meat, gurt, and fry
bread. Small bits of the dough were thrown into a pan of fat. That wasn't too terrible, but eating
it day after dayтАФwell, I never really appreciated Anna for her skills. Or the marvels that
Marcus prepared when we were in the camp outside of Water's Fall.

But that had been a full camp. While we traveled, we made an overnight camp, which was a
completely different thing. We no longer had the command tent, which was almost as big as
some houses, and took a full day to erect. Now it was tiny little shelters that you crawled into to
sleep. Or not sleep, as was my case. I'd lay alone in the small tent, wrapped in blankets, and
stare at the covering around me. Every little sound, every step of a passing sentry, every snort
of a horse, every lump in the hard ground under me had my eyes open for most of the night.

It wasn't so bad when Keir was with me. For some reason I could sleep in his presence. Well,
truth be told, I could sleep in his arms. But he had duties and had to travel from one end of his
army to the other, and it spread out for miles. So there were some nights when he wasn't in our
shelter, and I had not seen him at all for the last two days.

Firelanders could sleep in the saddle. If I tried that, I got sick. Firelanders, in the saddle, could
repair tack, or sharpen blades or argue or, Goddess help me, talk.

Which was another thing. We had horses in Xy. I'd been taught to ride as a child, and have
ridden many times. But in the city I rarely bothered. By the time a groom had saddled one for
me, I could be halfway to where I was going. You had to worry about tying them to things and
leaving them for long periods. I'd never been really enamored of the beasts; they were a form
of transportation and not much more.

But I'd learned fast that Firelanders had relationships with their animals. Horses were treated
like small children, acknowledged and admired. One of the worst insults imaginable was