Welcome to webtempsreel.com webtempsreel.com was created: March 23 2013 01:58:05. Today Thursday 20 June 2013 03:44:24 Business has come true. The main shaman has shouted to fellow tribesmen that they have receded and have left a victim in loneliness. The crowd has rushed back, still full of excitation, still swinging onions and arrows over heads. Mari has taken away a look and has straightened hands. They were similar to wings of an eagle, but wings were any invisible, as if nonexistent though she clearly felt hard elasticity of wide feathers. Far at horizon the dark weight crept. From its mobile bowels the cones of American Indian tents sometimes thawing, sometimes merging in a uniform soft shade were shown. Outlines of people slid over the earth, moving circles. They were weaved by times into a chain and became similar to waving crones of trees, then were scattered and again became humanoid, but after again lost the shape and became ordinary clouds. From these shades the man, harmonous, bared, majestic was weaved. White Spirit at once has learnt in it the Speckled Hawk. - I am glad to meet you, the White Spirit, - has told it, smiling. - you are happy with how all happens? - It is happy? - She has shrugged shoulders. - as I can be happy? - Rough there was a life, - it has explained. - unless it is possible not to rejoice to it? She has looked downwards. The set of threads By the ground streamed. They coiled between trees, mountains, the rivers, as sparkling thin and infinitely long snakes. They were weaved, incorporated, broke up and again somewhere directed. - What now? - Has asked Mari. - I feel lost. - You would like to test something another? I see a dissatisfaction on your person. - It seemed to me that I conceived to live somehow differently. - You conceived differently, love washing, and your lives flew differently. - the Man has specified a hand downwards. - How? - Mari has felt joyful excitement. - That brilliant thread, - he has told. - both that, and that... It is a lot of Them. All of them belong to you. These are your vital traces. It seems that you have forgotten all... Open the heart, White Spirit, peer, go down more low and you will see all... Mari has softly turned over in space and a stone has fallen downwards. The Earth came nearer. Golden threads turned pale as approaching them Mari. "They only have published sparkle", - has flashed in her head. Threads became wider, viscous and indistinct. Was gone them jurkost, they became slow, viscous, similar to the river. Then everything have disappeared, except one. On its surface have started to be squeezed out, as from clay, a figure of people, animal, American Indian dwellings. Mari has fallen absolutely low and has seen familiar settlement. The bases konusovidnyh tents floated in a transparent fog. Hardly away from camp horses were grazed. - White Spirit! - she has heard. - we pray for you! Mari zavisla over tent of the shaman and through a flue has seen the people who have gathered in its house. Old the Bear Head sat, having wrapped up completely in bizonju a skin spotted with small drawings. White Spirit has learnt a skin intended for carrying out of Night Ceremony. - I put you before us, White Spirit! - has hooted from under a skin the Bear Head. The boy-assistant sitting to the right of the old man has extended before itself a simple figure from small sticks over which the toy dress has been fastened, and from the lump of clay serving by a head, bunches of a faded grass stuck out. Mari for some reason at once has understood that the doll represented it. Taking a toy for the basis, the Bear Head four times were slowly bypassed by a fire, without testing any inconvenience because that has been completely wrapped up in a skin, and left tent. - Now you will take all hvorobu from White Spirit, - the shaman has strictly spoken, addressing to a doll. - you hear me? - Yes, - Mari has responded. The old man has nodded, has dumped from itself bizonju a skin and has stopped before the small fire burning behind tent. It has lifted a doll over a head, and Mari has fallen directly to it. - Everything, illness! - has cried the Bear Head. - now you should leave! You here do not have a place! And it has thrown a doll in fire. © ISP