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“A strange, unnameable thing touched his neck, passed through his tiny hairs as he woke up. Without opening his eyes, he pressed his palms into the ground. Was the world tossing and turning in its sleep, playing with an ancient subcutaneous fire? Or were the bison beating out shots with their hooves in the dust of the prairies, in the rustling grass, rolling in like a black storm? No. What is this? What?..”
FL/731317/R
Data sheet
- Name of the Author
- Рэй Брэдбери
- Language
- Russian
- Translator
- Владимир Даниэлевич Серебряков
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“A strange, unnameable thing touched his neck, passed through his tiny hairs as he woke up. Without opening his eyes, he pressed his palms into the ground. W...