"Holly Lisle - Fire In The Mist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lisle Holly)

with her last chorus, she threw in some silly dance steps with her brass-tipped staff as her partner.

The trees that lined the lane arched over her head, blossoming or barely greening; spring smelled fresh
and earthy and new; and,Lady, it is good to be on my way and free!was the thought foremost in her
mind.

At the top of the first hill, the trees were cleared and she turned to look back at Bright nestled below
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her. At her own house, which lay nearest her point of view, a wisp of smoke rose from the chimney.
Further back, the smith's forge was already going at full blast, and she could just catch the steady "clink,
clink" of the smith's hammer on the anvil as it drifted across the distance. The littlest children played tag in
the cobblestoned street; their older sibs helped mothers and fathers with the serious work of readying the
plows and harnesses for ground-breaking and planting. She could see Nesta shoving round loaves of
bread into the tall stacks of ovens—an older relative of those loaves rested in her pack, along with some
cheese from Nesta's sister Gredla.

She smiled. Home, wonderful, home—where just at the moment, unfortunately, everybody was busy as
birds with nestlings. Thank the Lady for giving her the gift of tending; if it were not for that, she'd be home
doing the dull labor, like tilling or planting or pulling weeds, and some other lucky soul would be heading
for the hills for the summer. For, thanks to her magic with flocks and dogs, ahead for her lay the upland
pastures. There she could dally about and play her rede-flute and watch the stars and admire the
newborn lambs when they came. And cloudgaze nearly to her heart's content.

The flock trotted onward, and she blew Bright a smug little kiss and hurried after them.
***

Risse watched her youngest child depart and felt a special pang of maternal longing. Nineteen years old,
tall, strong, and beautiful, Faia was everything she could have hoped for in a daughter, and more. In spite
of Faia's heated arguments to the contrary, Risse was sure there would be special young men soon; not
the current casual lovers, but men Faia would want to have children with. And Faia's life would change,
as she had to accept responsibility for babies. She would have less time to wander in the hills, less time to
play with her dogs. Risse tired to imagine her daughter with children, and came up with a mental picture
of Faia with beautiful babies swaddled on her back as she bounded across an upland pasture after her
sheep. The older woman grinned. It was actually the only way she could imagine her youngest with
children.

She will be such a boon to the village—when she grows up and gets her father's wayfaring ways
out of her system.

There was more to Faia than stubbornness and independence and wanderlust, though, and Risse
worried about that, too.

She has more of the Lady's power than I have ever sensed before—even if it has not surfaced yet.
She's like a river—deep and quiet and unbelievably strong. I just wish she had more interest in
exploring her talent—the Lady does not give gifts in order for them to be wasted.