"Phyllis Ann Welsh - Sylvan Wars 2 - The Choosing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Welsh Phyllis Ann)

idiot concerned about how she looked and who was going to see her. If she didnтАЩt get a grip on
herself, sheтАЩd start hoping for someone to come along and rescue her.
тАЬHa! That has about as much chance of happening as a Night Elf has of loving his mother.тАЭ
She shook out the long tresses and draped them over her back and shoulders. They made a
sort of curtain that would conceal most of her body from the rising sun and any prying eyes. Not
that there was anyone around to see, of course, she fumed. But the wet strands gave her a false
sense of protection which was somewhat comforting.
She scanned the beach from her perch, hoping she had missed something. Not a flutter of
cloth, nor a glint of steel met her gaze. Did she have the wrong cove?
тАЬMy sense of directionтАЩs never failed me. Those elves are probably lost!тАЭ
By the position of the sun, morning was coming on fast, and she had to get back to the ruins
of Shalridoor soon. It was dangerous to be out without her weapons, although the danger from
the Night Elves was slim to none. They could not stand the light of the sun and only raided
during the night.
For the past two weeks, Feenix and the band of Sea Elves from the magical island of
Sasheena had been reclaiming the ancient, ruined city of Shalridoor from the wilderness and the
encroaching sea, while simultaneously planning a war against the hated Night Elves.
Preparations for the attack were almost complete, and she needed to be there to lead the
offensive.
тАЬBy Mac LirтАЩs beard,тАЭ she swore. тАЬI suppose IтАЩd better get moving or my skin will burn to a
crisp just sitting here waiting for those elves to show up with my gear.тАЭ She dusted a layer of fine
sand from her hands. тАЬAlthough I have half a mind to walk away and leave those high and
mighty elves to their own incompetence.тАЭ
As she rose, she heard a soft whirling sound to her right. Her war-honed senses screaming a
warning, Feenix crouched and reached for a sword that was no longer strapped to her side. She
had time to see the face of her attacker before a rank fishing net dropped over her head.
Branded in her mind were ice-blue eyes glaring with an inner fire, a strong nose above firm
lips pulled back in a sneer, and cropped black hair exposing ears tipped as only a silvanтАЩs could
be. But it was the lean, pale face that held her in shock. This elf wore a trim, dark beard along a
jutting jaw line. No elf she had ever seen could grow a beard.
She raised her arms and ducked to ward off the entrapping mesh, but was caught fast in the



4
 THE CHOOSING



net.
тАЬOh, damn!тАЭ

~*~

LтАЩGarn ordered his men back to Cragimore. The sun was due to come up shortly and they
would be no use to him then. Night Elves could not survive long in the sun. He, on the other
hand, was an outbreed, one who had human blood running through his veins, polluting his silvan
heritage. While he did not like the sun, he could tolerate it for short periods.
His men obeyed without the usual resistance and slightly veiled disrespect that always
accompanied an order from him. LтАЩGarn knew their compliance had nothing to do with his