Читать книгу The Gargoyle Overhead - Philippa Dowding - Страница 17

Smoke Rings in the Orchard

Philip stood completely still, barely daring to breathe. The sack for collecting apples had fallen, forgotten, from his hand into the grass. His face held a strange look of bewilderment and dawning comprehension.

The creature was hunched at his feet, looking at the ground. Eventually Philip was sure the creature was crying, since he heard the plunk plunk of its tears hitting the earth and saw small columns of steam rise from where they fell.

Philip clenched and unclenched his fists, under-standing now that he was in no immediate danger. He cleared his throat. “What is that language you speak? It is strange and whispery and not my tongue, I think, and yet I understand you.”