"Kerr,.Katharine.-.Deverry.03.-.Bristling.Wood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

Devaberiel nodded in agreement. He was an exceptionally
handsome man, with hair pale as moonlight, deep-set dark blue
eyes, slit vertically like a cat’s, and gracefully long pointed ears.
Although Ebaсy had inherited the pale hair, in other ways he took
after his mother’s human folk; his smoky gray eyes had round
irises, and his ears, while slightly sharp, passed unnoticed in the
lands of men. They rode on, leading their eight horses, two of
which dragged travois, loaded with everything they owned. Since
Devaberiel was a bard and Ebaсy, a gerthddyn—that is, a
storyteller and minstrel—they didn’t need large herds to support
themselves. As they rode up to the tents, the People ran out to
greet them, hailing the bard and vying for the honor of feeding him
and his son.

They chose to pitch the ruby-red tent near that of Tanidario, a
woman who was an old friend of the bard’s. Although she’d often
given his father advice and help as he raised his half-breed son
alone, Ebaсy found it hard to think of her as a mother. Unlike his
own mother back in Eldidd, whom he vaguely remembered as soft,
pale, and cuddly, Tanidario was a hunter, a hard-muscled woman
who stood six feet tall and arrow-straight, with jet-black hair that
hung in one tight braid to her waist. Yet when she greeted him, she
kissed his cheek, caught his shoulders, and held him a bit away
while she smiled as if to say how much he’d grown.

“I’ll wager you’re looking forward to the spring hunt,” he said.

“I certainly am, little one. I’ve been making friends with the Forest
Folk, and they’ve offered to show me how to hunt with a spear in
the deep woods. I’m looking forward to the challenge.”

Ebaсy merely smiled.

“I know you,” Tanidario said with a laugh. “Your idea of hunting is
finding a soft bed with a pretty lass in it. Well, maybe when you’re
fully grown, you’ll see things more clearly.”

“I happen to be seventy-four this spring.”

“A mere child.” She tousled his hair with a callused hand. “Well,
come along. The gathering’s already beginning. Where’s your
father gotten himself to?”

“He went with the other bards. He’ll be singing right after the
Retelling.”

Down by the river, some of the People had lashed together a
rough platform out of travois poles, where Devaberiel stood
conferring with four other bards. All around it the crowd spread out,
the adults sitting cross-legged in the grass while restless children