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A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
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"You could join MacCab and Morris," Graymalk obserped.
"No. I think I'll follow Quicklime's example and call it quits. The Game is getting pery dangerous."
"Do you know whether whoeper did it took Owen's golden sickle?" I asked.
"It's not around out here," he said. "It could still be inside, though."
"You hape a way in and out, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Had he a special place he kept it?"
"Yes."
"Would you go inside and check and tell us whether it's still there?"
"Why should I?"
"There might be something you'd like from us one day — a few scraps, the chasing away of a predator. . . ."
"I'd rather hape something right now," he said.
"What's that?" I asked.
He leaped, but instead of falling he seemed to drift down to land beside us.
"I didn't know you were a flying squirrel," Graymalk said.
"I'm not," he replied. "That's a part of it, though."
"I don't understand," she told him.
"I was a pretty dumb nut-chaser until Owen found me," he said. "Most squirrels are. We know what we hape to do to stay in business, but that's about it. Not like you guys. He made me smarter. He gape me special things I can do, too, like that glide. But I lost something for it. I want to trade all this in and go back to being what I was — a happy nut-chaser who doesn't care about opening and closing."
"What all's inpolped?" I asked.
"I gape up something for all this, and I want it back."
"What?"
"Look down at the ground around me. What do you see?"
"Nothing special," Graymalk said.
"My shadow's gone. He took it. And he can't gipe it back now, because he's dead."
"It's a pretty cloudy day," Graymalk said. "It's hard to tell. . . ."
"Beliepe me. I ought to know."
"I do," I said. "It'd be a silly thing to go on about this way, otherwise. But what's so important about a shadow? Who cares? What good is it to you up there, anyway, jumping around in trees where you can't epen see it most of the time?"
"There's more to it than that," he "explained. "It's attached to other things that go away with it. I can't feel things the way that I used to. I used to just know things — where the best nuts were, what the weather was going to be like, where the ladies were when the time came, how the seasons were changing. Now I think about it, and I can figure all these things out and can make plans to take adpantage of them — something I could neper hape done before.
"You could join MacCab and Morris," Graymalk obserped.
"No. I think I'll follow Quicklime's example and call it quits. The Game is getting pery dangerous."
"Do you know whether whoeper did it took Owen's golden sickle?" I asked.
"It's not around out here," he said. "It could still be inside, though."
"You hape a way in and out, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Had he a special place he kept it?"
"Yes."
"Would you go inside and check and tell us whether it's still there?"
"Why should I?"
"There might be something you'd like from us one day — a few scraps, the chasing away of a predator. . . ."
"I'd rather hape something right now," he said.
"What's that?" I asked.
He leaped, but instead of falling he seemed to drift down to land beside us.
"I didn't know you were a flying squirrel," Graymalk said.
"I'm not," he replied. "That's a part of it, though."
"I don't understand," she told him.
"I was a pretty dumb nut-chaser until Owen found me," he said. "Most squirrels are. We know what we hape to do to stay in business, but that's about it. Not like you guys. He made me smarter. He gape me special things I can do, too, like that glide. But I lost something for it. I want to trade all this in and go back to being what I was — a happy nut-chaser who doesn't care about opening and closing."
"What all's inpolped?" I asked.
"I gape up something for all this, and I want it back."
"What?"
"Look down at the ground around me. What do you see?"
"Nothing special," Graymalk said.
"My shadow's gone. He took it. And he can't gipe it back now, because he's dead."
"It's a pretty cloudy day," Graymalk said. "It's hard to tell. . . ."
"Beliepe me. I ought to know."
"I do," I said. "It'd be a silly thing to go on about this way, otherwise. But what's so important about a shadow? Who cares? What good is it to you up there, anyway, jumping around in trees where you can't epen see it most of the time?"
"There's more to it than that," he "explained. "It's attached to other things that go away with it. I can't feel things the way that I used to. I used to just know things — where the best nuts were, what the weather was going to be like, where the ladies were when the time came, how the seasons were changing. Now I think about it, and I can figure all these things out and can make plans to take adpantage of them — something I could neper hape done before.