He looks at them - Beautiful, young, young, full of hope and unfinished dreams. One, like a flame, bright, red-haired, laughs like a hundred crystal streams, and the eyes of the green hills of the British. A hot fire that you can not hold back will not be able to. And he does not warm at all. Slow down, and burn to the ground, this red-headed beast will take you away in his wild, primitive dance. And she sings as if the soul is wrapped on a ball, and then she sobs sobs.
And the second is fragile and tender, like a ray of spring sun. She can barely touch her lips with a smile, and then she looks at her soul with her blue eyes. And he is silent. But if he speaks, the world fades. Blonde, braids up to the waist, proud turn of the head ... and silence. The flowers of the field interweave in wreaths, the white hands of colitis, but he is silent. Like a summer, the summer is tender and beautiful. Like a balm for tired travelers of her speech ...
"One of them will ruin Camelot" - sounds in his head. And the old man frowns, pulls his beard and thinks.
Camelot - the City of the Great, the eternal city, the strongest of which is not in the world. Noble that will not be. The stronghold of Brittany, a white-stone hail, which knows no defeats. But he is destined to fall. One of them will destroy the great city of Camelot - the elder knows. The wind whispered to him about it, the water in the drops brought ... the stars whisper. Camelot falls. A woman will ruin him. One of the two.
And the old man is silent. thinks, calculates. Who, then? Who will undermine the eternity of the white city? No answer.
And He looks at the bright flame, capable of burning all life and burning to the ground. Looks at the gentle calm of a summer night in other eyes .... and makes a choice. It seems so obvious. It is impossible to curb the flame, it will break out .. and destroy everything around.
The old man whispers terrible words, whispers with one's lips and shudders "Let not you see more of Camelot, Lady, for disobedience is death."
And the curse flies over the meadows, it is woven with wild grasses, touches the light forehead while they are both asleep in the green grass, the hair is messed up ... where one can not make out - only red and light strands like wheat stalks ... as earth roots .. .
The old man sighs. it is necessary for him to do so. No choice. After all, the camelot is the last hope. He can not fall. He has no right to give up. Only the wind of the grass is waving.
And she wakes up - her hair is in braids to the waist, and her eyes are brighter than the sky in the spring ... only the flowers have already wilted. He steps gently on the grass, and then quietly asks:
"Where's Elaine?"
The old man does not say anything for a minute, and then he also quietly answers:
"Forget her light-eyed, her own destiny from now on." Its castle, its tower .. your island of Shalott. Do not look for it and do not remember it, but think about yourself, my queen. I know, I feel, glory and honor awaits you, my blind eyes Guinevere ...
