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- Фрэнк Герберт
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“
I
am
your
friend
,
Stilgar
,
”
Paul
said
.
“
No
man
doubts
it
,
”
Stilgar
said
.
He
removed
his
hand
,
shrugged
.
“
It
’
s
the
way
.
”
Paul
saw
that
Stilgar
was
too
immersed
in
the
Fremen
way
to
consider
the
possibility
of
any
other
.
Here
a
leader
took
the
reins
from
the
dead
hands
of
his
predecessor
,
or
slew
among
the
strongest
of
his
tribe
if
a
leader
died
in
the
desert
.
Stilgar
had
risen
to
be
a
naib
in
that
way
.
“
We
should
leave
this
maker
in
deep
sand
,
”
Paul
said
.
“
Yes
,
”
Stilgar
agreed
.
“
We
could
walk
to
the
cave
from
here
.
”
“
We
’
ve
ridden
him
far
enough
that
he
’
ll
bury
himself
and
sulk
for
a
day
or
so
,
”
Paul
said
.
“
You
’
re
the
mudir
of
the
sandride
,
”
Stilgar
said
.
“
Say
when
we
.
.
.
”
He
broke
off
,
stared
at
the
eastern
sky
.
Paul
whirled
.
The
spice
-
blue
overcast
on
his
eyes
made
the
sky
appear
dark
,
a
richly
filtered
azure
against
which
a
distant
rhythmic
flashing
stood
out
in
sharp
contrast
.
Ornithopter
!
