Кладбище домашних животных

55

           Itseemedtohimthatthelightwasbrighter,apulsingeffulgencelikethebeatofsomestrangeheart.Hehadneverbeforefeltsostronglythepresenceofnatureasakindofcoalescingforce,arealbeing...possiblysentient.Theswampwasalive,butnotwiththesoundofmusic.Ifaskedtodefineeitherthesenseorthenatureofthataliveness,hewouldhavebeenunable.Heonlyknewthatitwasrichwithpossibilityandtexturedwithstrength.Insideit,Louisfeltverysmallandverymortal.

           Thentherewasasound,andherememberedthisfromthelasttimeaswell:ahigh,gobblinglaughthatbecameasob.Therewassilenceforamomentandthenthelaughcameagain,thistimerisingtoamaniacalshriekthatfrozeLouis’sblood.Themistdrifteddreamilyaroundhim.Thelaughterfaded,leavingonlythedroneofthewind,heardbutnolongerfelt.Ofcoursenot;thishadtobesomesortofgeologicalcupintheearth.Ifthewindcouldhavepenetratedhere,itwouldhavetornthismisttotatters...andLouiswasn’tsurehewouldwanttoseewhatmighthavebeenrevealed.

           Youmayhearsoundslikevoices,buttheyaretheloonsdownsouthtowardProspect.Thesoundcarries.It’sfunny.

           "Loons,"Louissaidandbarelyrecognizedthecracked,somehowghastlysoundofhisownvoice.Buthesoundedamused.Godhelphim,heactuallysoundedamused.

           Hehesitatedbrieflyandthenmovedonagain.

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