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- Анджей Сапковский
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- Ведьмак: Кровь эльфов
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- Стр. 3/356
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Fear
.
The
bird
shrieks
.
The
wings
beat
,
feathers
slap
against
her
face
.
Fear
!
Help
!
Why
does
n't
anyone
help
me
?
Alone
,
weak
,
helpless
--
I
ca
n't
move
,
ca
n't
force
a
sound
from
my
constricted
throat
.
Why
does
no
one
come
to
help
me
?
I
'm
terrified
!
Eyes
blaze
through
the
slit
in
the
huge
winged
helmet
.
The
black
cloak
veils
everything
--
"
Ciri
!
"
She
woke
,
numb
and
drenched
in
sweat
,
with
her
scream
--
the
scream
which
had
woken
her
--
still
hanging
in
the
air
,
still
vibrating
somewhere
within
her
,
beneath
her
breast-bone
and
burning
against
her
parched
throat
.
Her
hands
ached
,
clenched
around
the
blanket
;
her
back
ached
...
"
Ciri
.
Calm
down
.
"
The
night
was
dark
and
windy
,
the
crowns
of
the
surrounding
pine
trees
rustling
steadily
and
melodiously
,
their
limbs
and
trunks
creaking
in
the
wind
.
There
was
no
malevolent
fire
,
no
screams
,
only
this
gentle
lullaby
.
Beside
her
the
campfire
flickered
with
light
and
warmth
,
its
reflected
flames
glowing
from
harness
buckles
,
gleaming
red
in
the
leather-wrapped
and
iron-banded
hilt
of
a
sword
leaning
against
a
saddle
on
the
ground
.
There
was
no
other
fire
and
no
other
iron
.
The
hand
against
her
cheek
smelled
of
leather
and
ashes
.
Not
of
blood
.
"
Geralt
--
"
