-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Анджей Сапковский
-
- Ведьмак: Кровь эльфов
-
- Стр. 40/356
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
You
've
got
two
options
,
old
thing
,
"
said
Triss
,
pulling
on
her
gloves
.
"
Either
you
get
used
to
magic
or
I
sell
you
to
some
peasants
to
pull
a
plough
.
"
The
gelding
pricked
up
its
ears
,
snorted
vapour
through
its
nostrils
and
obediently
started
down
the
wooded
mountainside
.
The
magician
leaned
over
in
the
saddle
,
avoiding
being
lashed
by
the
frosty
branches
.
The
magic
worked
quickly
;
she
stopped
feeling
the
sting
of
cold
in
her
elbows
and
on
her
neck
,
and
the
unpleasant
sensation
of
cold
which
had
made
her
hunch
her
shoulders
and
draw
her
head
in
disappeared
.
The
spell
,
warming
her
,
also
muffled
the
hunger
which
had
been
eating
at
her
for
several
hours
.
Triss
cheered
up
,
made
herself
comfortable
in
the
saddle
and
,
with
greater
attention
than
before
,
started
to
take
stock
of
her
surroundings
.
Ever
since
she
had
left
the
beaten
track
,
she
had
been
guided
by
the
greyish-white
wall
of
mountains
and
their
snow-capped
summits
which
glistened
gold
in
those
rare
moments
when
the
sun
pierced
the
clouds
--
usually
in
the
morning
or
just
before
sunset
.
Now
that
she
was
closer
to
the
mountain
chain
she
had
to
take
greater
care
.
The
land
around
Kaer
Morhen
was
famous
for
its
wildness
and
inaccessibility
,
and
the
gap
in
the
granite
wall
that
was
a
vital
landmark
was
not
easy
for
an
inexperienced
eye
to
find
.
It
was
enough
to
turn
down
one
of
the
numerous
gullies
and
gorges
to
lose
sight
of
it
.
And
even
she
who
knew
the
land
,
knew
the
way
and
knew
where
to
look
for
the
pass
,
could
not
allow
herself
to
lose
her
concentration
for
an
instant
.
The
forest
came
to
an
end
.
A
wide
valley
opened
before
the
enchantress
,
strewn
with
boulders
which
ran
across
the
valley
to
the
sheer
mountain-slope
on
the
other
side
.
The
Gwenllech
,
the
River
of
White
Stones
,
flowed
down
the
heart
of
the
valley
,
foam
seething
between
the
boulders
and
logs
washed
along
by
the
current
.
Here
,
in
its
upper
reaches
,
the
Gwenllech
was
no
more
than
a
wide
but
shallow
stream
.
Up
here
it
could
be
crossed
without
any
difficulty
.
Lower
down
,
in
Kaedwen
,
in
its
middle
reaches
,
the
river
was
an
insurmountable
obstacle
,
rushing
and
breaking
against
the
beds
of
its
deep
chasms
.
The
gelding
,
driven
into
the
water
,
hastened
its
step
,
clearly
wanting
to
reach
the
opposite
bank
as
quickly
as
possible
.
Triss
held
it
back
lightly
--
the
stream
was
shallow
,
reaching
just
above
the
horse
's
fetlocks
,
but
the
pebbles
covering
the
bed
were
slippery
and
the
current
was
sharp
and
quick
.
The
water
churned
and
foamed
around
her
mount
's
legs
.
The
magician
looked
up
at
the
sky
.
The
growing
cold
and
increasing
wind
here
,
in
the
mountains
,
could
herald
a
blizzard
and
she
did
not
find
the
prospect
of
spending
yet
another
night
in
a
grotto
or
rocky
nook
too
attractive
.
She
could
,
if
she
had
to
,
continue
her
journey
even
through
a
blizzard
;
she
could
locate
the
path
using
telepathy
,
she
could
--
using
magic
--
make
herself
insensitive
to
the
cold
.
She
could
,
if
she
had
to
.
But
she
preferred
not
to
have
to
.
Luckily
,
Kaer
Morhen
was
already
close
.
Triss
urged
the
gelding
on
to
flat
scree
,
over
an
enormous
heap
of
stones
washed
down
by
glaciers
and
streams
,
and
rode
into
a
narrow
pass
between
rocky
outcrops
.
The
gorge
walls
rose
vertically
and
seemed
to
meet
high
above
her
,
only
divided
by
a
narrow
line
of
sky
.
It
grew
warmer
,
the
wind
howling
above
the
rocks
could
no
longer
reach
to
lash
and
sting
at
her
.
