"Ardath Mayhar - Hunters of the Plains" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mayhar Ardath)

He turned to gaze eastward, where the line of paleness crossed the sky. Morning was coming. Already
he could hear some of his family moving about inside their lodge, and he went back quickly to join them.
Today would be a day to remember all his life, for never again would he live through this preparation day
before the hunt that was his beginning as a killer of the great beasts that wandered the plain.

He wondered, as he pushed back the door skin and stooped to enter the lodge, if it would be the Great
Horned Ones or the Great Tusked Ones that they would hunt tomorrow. Although the Tusked Ones had
been moving in this direction, a small herd of Horned Ones was now nearer than the other group.

Last night they had spoken only of the Great Ones, and every sort of animal that roamed the plains was
huge—the bear he had encountered was actually one of the smaller kinds. There was the sloth, as long as
a lodge and strong. The wolf that roamed the grasslands was itself very large, compared to the size of a
puny human being.

Do-na-ti joined the group in the center of the lodge, watching as his uncle spoke to the wide-eyed
children about the shaggy dog hide in his hands. "The one who plays the dog goes into the midst of the
herd, making the tail move in a lifelike way, walking as a dog walks, sniffing as he sniffs.

"If he is not skillful, one of the females will suspect this may be a threat to her young, and she will pound
him to death with her hooves and horns. If she is one of the tusked ones, she will smash him with her
great curving teeth and step on him with feet like flat boulders.

"Taking the part of the dog is a task for one with young nerves and great courage. Our nephew Do-na-ti
has honored us all in being chosen."

The young man felt himself grow warm with pride. To honor his people was one of the most important
things one could do, and he intended to play the dog better than anyone else ever had. The story singers
would make songs about tomorrow's hunt, if all went well.

The day dragged, as Do-na-ti went out to check the rabbit traps along the draw beyond the edge of the
village. Four fat ones jerked and flopped at his approach, and he swiftly broke their necks with the edge
of his hand and put them into the net bag slung over his shoulder.

The wind was blowing briskly from the west, flattening the long reaches of grass, as he turned toward the
low growth of scrub where he had some time earlier seen birds fly down as if to nest. There should be
eggs there now, and those were always a welcome addition to the food supply.
He watched his step as he crossed the rough patches of grass and gravel, for in this hot weather
rattlesnakes were sometimes too irritable to give fair warning to approaching feet. When he arrived at the
edge of the clump of bushes, he stopped and reached to shake the nearest.

A dove shot up from one of the higher branches; he spotted the dishlike nest and moved to gather the
two pale eggs there. There were three other nests along the edge of the large patch, though the hen birds
were not sitting on them. One held four greenish eggs, one a single pearl-gray one, and the last was
empty. Not a large haul, but every morsel of food was precious to the People.

He felt as if he were playing at being a child, now that he was officially a man. For this was children's
work, though only after tomorrow would he have to give it up entirely. One last time he would gather
eggs and take rabbits from the snares. Tomorrow he would begin his life as a hunter.

The day ended at last, and the family came in from gathering seeds from the grasses and rushes, and