"Wentworth-AsYouSow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wentworth K D)

waving his arms and shouting like a demon. The startled birds jerked their heads
up from the water and eyed him nervously. "Fly!" he shouted. "Fly away and don't
come back!"

They watched him for another second, then took to the sky, their necks
outstretched, their great wings beating. Behind him, he heard the gun crack. One
graceful flier plummeted to the ground. Ungern felt as though his heart had been
tom out. "No, they're beautiful! Can't you see?"

Masaryk threw down a game bag. "Fetch that bird, idiot, and be quick about it."

Ungern stared at the leather pouch on the grass, a red haze boiling behind his
eyes. He snatched a rough-edged stone from the ground and flung it with all his
might at the gelding's well-brushed hindquarters.

The startled horse squealed with pain and jumped sideways. Pinning its ears
back, it took the bit in its teeth and plunged recklessly toward the newly
plowed fields. Ungern could hear the overseer cursing as he hauled back on the
reins, fighting to regain control before it tripped in the soft furrows and
broke its leg -- or his neck.

His hands shaking, Ungern crossed to where the dead bird lay sprawled, half in,
half out of the pond. A few of the flock had already landed again, and were
dancing back and forth on their webbed feet with quick, nervous strides. He
knelt and touched the body -- still warm. A hot tear rolled down his cheek, and
he buried his face in the bird's silken feathers.

A moment later, he heard honking, and looked up as the flock circled anxiously
above the pond. He wiped his aching eyes with the back of his hand. Somehow,
somehow, he must send the birds away forever, because if he didn't, they would
all come back -- the overseer, his brothers, the villagers -- with their stones
and knives and guns until nothing remained of his birds but a pile of bones,
bleaching in the garbage midden.

His hands clenched. He couldn't let that happen; he wouldn't! But twice now,
they had been frightened away and then returned. He glanced around, the air
rasping in his throat, trying to think why they always came back. His gaze
stopped at the pond. His birds were water feeders; it must be the water that
attracted them. If he knocked out the wooden dam built across the stream, the
pond would drain and they would have to seek another feeding ground.

Ungern squinted at the sun, calculating. As soon as the overseer regained
control of his horse, he would return with more of the lord's men and whip the
hide off him for what he had done. He had an hour, maybe less.

He sighed and went to look for tools.

Half an hour later, he leaned on his axe and watched the water trickle through
the splintered wood into the rocky bed of the small creek below. He used his
sleeve to mop the sweat on his brow. The silvery water gurgled as it flowed