Читать книгу Elinor. The Deserted Valley. Book 1 - Mikhail Shelkov - Страница 36

The forest was changing.

Somewhere in the eerie green, there was succulent grass that grew up to the waist and thickets of hawthorn and elderberry that clung to the branches and tore their embroidered clothes; where the flavors of flowers beat into the nostrils, making them sneeze.

Every day during the transition, it became easier to plunge into these fresh new colors. Or to more modest places, where blue forget-me-nots and yellow inflorescences of celandine shyly appeared along the beige cover of fallen leaves, where the oaks dropped on the heads of negligent travelers with heavy acorns, and from under the roots, the grunting of the wild boars could be heard.

There were quite gloomy ones also, where the dark green needles pricked in the face and the back, where the cones hurt painfully on the soles of the boots, then made them limp for a half-day, where the gray moss and cobwebs spread over the fragile branches, where the trunks were covered with sticky mold and raw bark, where huge mushrooms grow almost waist high; some could be eaten, and some with a single smell could conjure an image of the talking saber right before your eyes.

The transitions were very challenging, but traveling through the native forest was incredibly interesting. The Vedichs didn’t even know their Dockol-Mo could be so diverse. And it only took leaving one’s native city in the wilderness to experience a few transitions.