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- Анджей Сапковский
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- Ведьмак: Кровь эльфов
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"
It
was
just
a
dream
.
A
bad
dream
.
"
Ciri
shuddered
violently
,
curling
her
arms
and
legs
up
tight
.
A
dream
.
Just
a
dream
.
The
campfire
had
already
died
down
;
the
birch
logs
were
red
and
luminous
,
occasionally
crackling
,
giving
off
tiny
spurts
of
blue
flame
which
illuminated
the
white
hair
and
sharp
profile
of
the
man
wrapping
a
blanket
and
sheepskin
around
her
.
"
Geralt
,
I
--
"
"
I
'm
right
here
.
Sleep
,
Ciri
.
You
have
to
rest
.
We
've
still
a
long
way
ahead
of
us
.
"
I
can
hear
music
,
she
thought
suddenly
.
Amidst
the
rustling
of
the
trees
...
there
's
music
.
Lute
music
.
And
voices
.
The
Princess
of
Cintra
...
A
child
of
destiny
...
A
child
of
Elder
Blood
,
the
blood
of
elves
.
Geralt
of
Rivia
,
the
White
Wolf
,
and
his
destiny
.
No
,
no
,
that
's
a
legend
.
A
poet
's
invention
.
The
princess
is
dead
.
She
was
killed
in
the
town
streets
while
trying
to
escape
...
Hold
on
...
!
Hold
...
"
Geralt
?
"
"
What
,
Ciri
?
"
