народик на тумблере зачитал туманы, не может не радовать!
“Morgaine,” Arthur whispered, “is it really you? I cannot see you, Morgaine, it is so dark here-is the sun setting? Morgaine, take me to Avalon, where you can heal me of this wound-take me home, Morgaine-“
His head was heavy on my breast, heavy as the child in my own childish arms, heavy as the King Stag who had come to me in triumph. Morgaine, my mother had called impatiently, take care of the baby … and all my life I had borne him with me. I held him close and wiped away his tears with my veil, and he reached up and caught at my hand with his own.
“But it is really you,” he murmured, “it is you, Morgaine … you have come back to me … and you are so young and fair … I will always see the Goddess with your face … Morgaine, you will not leave me again, will you?”
“I will never leave you again, my brother, my baby, my love,” I whispered to him, and I kissed his eyes. And he died, just as the mists rose and the sun shone full over the shores of Avalon.
- Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Mists of Avalon