[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Kirelle paused, aware of the pull of the moon in her blood, of the wheeling swing ofstrange stars, and the slow, insistent aging that ruled all aspects of earthly life.Curiosity filled her, too.She had been born here, taken across the veil as a changelingunknowable years in the past.Never before had Kirelle felt moved to wonder whether herhuman parents had grieved when the glamor left by the fey wore off, and they discoveredan unbreathing bundle of twigs left in place of their stolen child.A moment later, listening uneasily Kirelle noticed the wood's appalling silence.Windalone dared raise voice in this place.No crickets called, nor any night-singing bird.Themissing, subliminal thread of harmony her art should have sensed from growing woodraised panic, until she realized: stripped branches and hard-edged, unsoftened moonlightwere proper, here.This world went dormant for winter, its smaller creatures frost-killed ordeparted until the renewal of spring.The only vibrant life within reach of Kirelle's senses seemed to be the Wizard's whiteowl, that carved impatient circles as it waited for her to regain wits and purpose.Kirelletouched a sapling to borrow from its rooted firmness the assurance to brace her failingnerves.But her contact revealed something worse than dormancy; the young beech feltsluggish and dull under her hands, stupidlyreft of its power of being and retarded from self-awareness.Horror and pity sent herreeling a step back.These earthly trees were mute, brutishly groping through soil and sunlight without thegift of wakening.No one had walked this wood for many years who understood how tonurture the spirit nature of wild trees.226aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rKirelle bit her lip, tasting tears.The anger of the fey would bring justice for the neglectand contempt that had befallen these sorry forests.But if the dissolution of theborderlands and the final separation of the mysteries was a punishment suchthoughtlessness deserved, her own fate and the Wizard's freedom were now as deeplyentangled.Grown urgent at her delay, the white owl banked broad wings and flew.Kirelle stumbledto follow.The ache in her assumed the proportions of despair, that the threateningpresence of three reavers permitted her no interval to rouse these trees to aware-ness.Against the mute void that heartlessness had allowed this wood to become, the true-songof the Eld Tree rang in solitary splendor against the far distant chime of the stars.Longbefore the white owl swooped to alight on the mighty oak's branches, Kirelle could senseits power.Although leaves, trunk, and branches embraced the earthly world, the taprootsof this Tree bridged the veil and sank deep into borderlands soil.Yet reunion with the familiar brought no sense of rejoicing.The Tree's muddied angerall but stopped Kirelle's breath.Sour wind tugged her cloak hem and stirred the hair thattwigs had raked loose from her braid as her healer's gifts picked past raw rage to bare thethread of stark pain underlying.A moment later, as the late rising moon sliced torn clouds,she saw the gleam of the axe left struck in striated bark.Even from several paces off, the steel raised an ache in her bones.Fully as hurtful wasthe blood reek of the stag, thanklessly killed, then gutted and lashed to a branch by a ropethat creaked in,the wind.Other unidentifiable odors dizzied Kirelle's senses as she madeherself close the last steps.And there they were, three forms sprawled out on bare ground and wrapped in bright-colored bedding that to Kirelle's eye looked light and fine-woven as silk.They smelled ofwoodsmoke and damp leaves and the animal tang of dried sweat.No aura of savagerywarned which had cut the Eld Tree, or which had slain the Wizard's owl.Asleep, the menlooked innocent and ordinary, in their way as dumbly vulnerable as this world's unlovedtrees.Kirelle saw nothing she recognized as a weapon beyond the axe,227aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rthough other steel things whose use she could not fathom riddied the site of their camp.Touched by a strange surge of pity, Kirelle shivered.The axe blade in any earthly treewould have roused no uncanny reverberations.But with the Wizard left trapped by theEldforest's ire, her healer's preference for mercy must not lead her to risk that the fey's cryfor vengeance be balked from finding expiation.The talisman stones must be set, and theirdreams be given rein to unravel three minds into nightmare.The nearer man slept in a sprawl, one powerful arm clenched over his chest, and his legsentangled in his bedding.He breathed in the rhythm of untroubled rest and never stirredas Kirelle reached out with shaking fingers and tucked the first stone in his palm.Softly,silently, she engaged the powers of her art to sound his intents and make a weaving of hisvulnerabilities.Bill Farlane leveled his rifle.Equipped with the finest telescopic sight, he aligned thecrosshairs on the buck.The moment came back in perfect clarity, from the clean bite of thewind to the winter-thin patch of sunlight that danced on the deer's dun pelt.He held his breath to steady his aim, squeezed off the round like a caress - then felt thetriumph in his gut freeze to horror as the deer dissolved, replaced before his eyes by hisdaughter's pink and blue parka.No.t - his thought too late.Already the report of the rifle spat its flat crack through thewood.Crows exploded into raucous, indignant flight.Pink acrylic showed a blossomingstain of red, and a pitiful three-year-old body crashed headlong into sun-dappled leafmold.'Nice shot!' Rafe said, his personal brand of sarcasm making even praise feel like insult.Bill straightened, mouth opened to cry Sallie's name.But to his utter terror, his heartdeep cry of grief emerged as banal conversation.'It was anice shot, darned if it wasn't.'Those words, he thought wildly, they'd been said over a deer.But no buck lay in theclearing.Only Sallie, dreadfully bloody and still.The rifle still warm in his hand had shother cold, and like some ugly, played-over script, Alan's voice was repeating, 'Well, fine.You've bagged your trophy.For the love of mike, go228aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rin quickly.Make sure the shot was clean and use your knife if it wasn't.'Bill screamed in impotent silence: That's my daughter.Yet the words stayed mired in hishead.His shoulders set for a satisfied swagger, he ejected the spent shell and laid his rifleagainst a tree.Locked into actions that denied his raw grief, reft of all power to stophimself, he saw that willpower and muscle, all of his prideful strength and competencewere going to do him no good.He was going to rise, going to walk, going to kneel down byhis little dead daughter, and dress out her body as he should have done the killed meat of adeer.While Rare said something ordinary and Alan gave a meaningless reply, Bill felt himselfrise from his stalking crouch and heft his new knife in his hand [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl centka.pev.pl
.Kirelle paused, aware of the pull of the moon in her blood, of the wheeling swing ofstrange stars, and the slow, insistent aging that ruled all aspects of earthly life.Curiosity filled her, too.She had been born here, taken across the veil as a changelingunknowable years in the past.Never before had Kirelle felt moved to wonder whether herhuman parents had grieved when the glamor left by the fey wore off, and they discoveredan unbreathing bundle of twigs left in place of their stolen child.A moment later, listening uneasily Kirelle noticed the wood's appalling silence.Windalone dared raise voice in this place.No crickets called, nor any night-singing bird.Themissing, subliminal thread of harmony her art should have sensed from growing woodraised panic, until she realized: stripped branches and hard-edged, unsoftened moonlightwere proper, here.This world went dormant for winter, its smaller creatures frost-killed ordeparted until the renewal of spring.The only vibrant life within reach of Kirelle's senses seemed to be the Wizard's whiteowl, that carved impatient circles as it waited for her to regain wits and purpose.Kirelletouched a sapling to borrow from its rooted firmness the assurance to brace her failingnerves.But her contact revealed something worse than dormancy; the young beech feltsluggish and dull under her hands, stupidlyreft of its power of being and retarded from self-awareness.Horror and pity sent herreeling a step back.These earthly trees were mute, brutishly groping through soil and sunlight without thegift of wakening.No one had walked this wood for many years who understood how tonurture the spirit nature of wild trees.226aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rKirelle bit her lip, tasting tears.The anger of the fey would bring justice for the neglectand contempt that had befallen these sorry forests.But if the dissolution of theborderlands and the final separation of the mysteries was a punishment suchthoughtlessness deserved, her own fate and the Wizard's freedom were now as deeplyentangled.Grown urgent at her delay, the white owl banked broad wings and flew.Kirelle stumbledto follow.The ache in her assumed the proportions of despair, that the threateningpresence of three reavers permitted her no interval to rouse these trees to aware-ness.Against the mute void that heartlessness had allowed this wood to become, the true-songof the Eld Tree rang in solitary splendor against the far distant chime of the stars.Longbefore the white owl swooped to alight on the mighty oak's branches, Kirelle could senseits power.Although leaves, trunk, and branches embraced the earthly world, the taprootsof this Tree bridged the veil and sank deep into borderlands soil.Yet reunion with the familiar brought no sense of rejoicing.The Tree's muddied angerall but stopped Kirelle's breath.Sour wind tugged her cloak hem and stirred the hair thattwigs had raked loose from her braid as her healer's gifts picked past raw rage to bare thethread of stark pain underlying.A moment later, as the late rising moon sliced torn clouds,she saw the gleam of the axe left struck in striated bark.Even from several paces off, the steel raised an ache in her bones.Fully as hurtful wasthe blood reek of the stag, thanklessly killed, then gutted and lashed to a branch by a ropethat creaked in,the wind.Other unidentifiable odors dizzied Kirelle's senses as she madeherself close the last steps.And there they were, three forms sprawled out on bare ground and wrapped in bright-colored bedding that to Kirelle's eye looked light and fine-woven as silk.They smelled ofwoodsmoke and damp leaves and the animal tang of dried sweat.No aura of savagerywarned which had cut the Eld Tree, or which had slain the Wizard's owl.Asleep, the menlooked innocent and ordinary, in their way as dumbly vulnerable as this world's unlovedtrees.Kirelle saw nothing she recognized as a weapon beyond the axe,227aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rthough other steel things whose use she could not fathom riddied the site of their camp.Touched by a strange surge of pity, Kirelle shivered.The axe blade in any earthly treewould have roused no uncanny reverberations.But with the Wizard left trapped by theEldforest's ire, her healer's preference for mercy must not lead her to risk that the fey's cryfor vengeance be balked from finding expiation.The talisman stones must be set, and theirdreams be given rein to unravel three minds into nightmare.The nearer man slept in a sprawl, one powerful arm clenched over his chest, and his legsentangled in his bedding.He breathed in the rhythm of untroubled rest and never stirredas Kirelle reached out with shaking fingers and tucked the first stone in his palm.Softly,silently, she engaged the powers of her art to sound his intents and make a weaving of hisvulnerabilities.Bill Farlane leveled his rifle.Equipped with the finest telescopic sight, he aligned thecrosshairs on the buck.The moment came back in perfect clarity, from the clean bite of thewind to the winter-thin patch of sunlight that danced on the deer's dun pelt.He held his breath to steady his aim, squeezed off the round like a caress - then felt thetriumph in his gut freeze to horror as the deer dissolved, replaced before his eyes by hisdaughter's pink and blue parka.No.t - his thought too late.Already the report of the rifle spat its flat crack through thewood.Crows exploded into raucous, indignant flight.Pink acrylic showed a blossomingstain of red, and a pitiful three-year-old body crashed headlong into sun-dappled leafmold.'Nice shot!' Rafe said, his personal brand of sarcasm making even praise feel like insult.Bill straightened, mouth opened to cry Sallie's name.But to his utter terror, his heartdeep cry of grief emerged as banal conversation.'It was anice shot, darned if it wasn't.'Those words, he thought wildly, they'd been said over a deer.But no buck lay in theclearing.Only Sallie, dreadfully bloody and still.The rifle still warm in his hand had shother cold, and like some ugly, played-over script, Alan's voice was repeating, 'Well, fine.You've bagged your trophy.For the love of mike, go228aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rin quickly.Make sure the shot was clean and use your knife if it wasn't.'Bill screamed in impotent silence: That's my daughter.Yet the words stayed mired in hishead.His shoulders set for a satisfied swagger, he ejected the spent shell and laid his rifleagainst a tree.Locked into actions that denied his raw grief, reft of all power to stophimself, he saw that willpower and muscle, all of his prideful strength and competencewere going to do him no good.He was going to rise, going to walk, going to kneel down byhis little dead daughter, and dress out her body as he should have done the killed meat of adeer.While Rare said something ordinary and Alan gave a meaningless reply, Bill felt himselfrise from his stalking crouch and heft his new knife in his hand [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]