Читать книгу Not fairy tales онлайн

53 страница из 60

To think how it worked out!

Here she is again in Ilfania in her old age. And again, she huddles in the little hut on the Marshlands, just like in her youth, when no one knew the novice witch yet.

Then they found out, of course. Of course, they did.

And now… they’ve forgotten. She should to remind, but her strength is not the same, and the desire, to be honest, almost no more.

Is that too much to ask?

Just not to live in the damp, where old bones break so much. Just a little memory, a little respect.

No, no one needs an ancient sorceress either there or here.

Barbeza sighed, grunted, stepped over the high threshold, climbed out onto the porch, and sat down in the shabby, creaky rocking chair, exposing her wrinkled face to the spring sun.

Below, on a large boulder on a path winding through the woods, a grass snake was basking in the warm rays, its black, resinous scales gleaming.

Heh… here she is, like a snake, crawling out of its den-lodge, to fry her bones. As if her own heat is no longer enough, as if the body is gradually taken over by a cold grave mist.