Читать книгу The Science Fiction Anthology онлайн

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“You’re wrong. He’s not like that. I know you’re wrong.”

Mia smiled twistedly. “How many has he already killed? How can we even guess?”

Ri swallowed sickly.

“Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret?”

Ri shuddered. “That’s different. Don’t you see? This is not at all like that.”

With morning came birds’ songs, came dew, came breakfast smells. The air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike, uncontaminated.

And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting the flap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared around the camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep.

“Breakfast!” he shouted, and two bearers came running with a folding table and chair. Behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray of various foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcher and a drinking mug.

Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in his conversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth with water and spat on the ground.