Read Online Gods of Green Mountain by V. C. Andrews - Free Book Online

occurred to him that the same world could look extraordinarily beautiful or desperately frightening, depending on one's vantage point. To his father, down in the lowlands, it wouldn't be beautiful--for all those people down there, this storm was the crowning touch of disaster.
    Looking down from his high place into the distant valleys, Far-Awn thought of his father, all of his family and his neighbors, wondering how they were faring. In those low fields, so diligently ploughed by his father and brothers, the neat rows, newly sprouted and hand-watered, would be under feet of snow. All the hopes and dreams sprouted along with the green would be as frozen and dead as the seedlings. The tortars would continue to grow, but oh, so sad to live for the rest of your life with one item on the menu.
    Thoughts of tortars, of menu, brought his own hunger into the forefront of his mind. A mind strangely light-headed, so that everything felt unreal, and dreamlike, and with effort he pulled his thoughts into focus. He sighed with the overwhelming ramifications each new day brought, and turned to awaken the puhlets. Startled, his violet, almost blue eyes opened wide, not able to give credence to what they registered! The puhlets were gone, every one! Dead? Eaten by the warfars? No blood did he see--only a trail in the soft snow, hoof marks, theirs. Again he was surprised as he examined the prints. Musha had led the herd away! His Musha! His most dependable animal had disobeyed him...taken his wives and led them away!
    Hurriedly Far-Awn strapped his bag of supplies on over his coat and set off at a trot to follow where the puhlets led. Many times he stumbled and fell before he remembered he hadn't eaten. He didn't realize how many days had passed since he ate last--he thought only one night had gone by, not four. He fumbled in his coat pocket for the sole remaining piece of cheese, now gone stale, and ate only half the small piece, savoring the cheese in his mouth as long as he could, forbidding his thoughts to linger on what he would eat when this last bit of cheese was gone.
    On and on the puhlets led him, down from the highlands, into the low-rolling plains. Never deviating from a set direction, the puhlets traveled in single file. So well did he know his animals, he could recognize each footprint and name the animal it belonged to. It was a set course, all right, true as an arrow, aimed directly at Bay Sol, that terrible land of sands and burning heat! It was all so reminiscent of that time two years previous, when the six female puhlets had entered the ice plains of Bay Gar.
    Far-Awn left the snow covered borderlands behind him. The ground went from hard to soft, powdering beneath his feet. Grainy sharp sands sifted into his hide, fur-covered shoes. He began to perspire. He stopped and took the bag of supplies from his shoulder, and removed his light, but too-hot coat. Again he strapped on his pack but left the fur coat on the sand, weighted down with several heavy rocks so the winds wouldn't blow away so valuable an article.
    Weak with hunger, and dry from sudden thirst, he stumbled into the desert wasteland. Scorching hot winds blew incessantly, seeming to suck every drop of moisture from his skin. Constantly he tipped his water bag to his lips, but never was his thirst satisfied, no matter how empty the bag became. He told himself to go easy on the water, to resist the urge to drink...there was no more water here. He licked his lips to moisten them, until his lips became parched and cracked, and his tongue felt like cotton. He swallowed, and there was nothing to relieve his burning throat.
    The two suns were high, blazing down on him with baleful, sneering, orange eyes, one behind, and one before. His twin short shadows fought for domination, trying to confuse him. He thought about lying down in the shade and resting awhile. There was not one lengthy spot of shade the suns would allow. "This is a hellish place for sure," he thought