Storm on the island
libre 11
A storm on the Aral Sea island Barsa-Kelmes can start quite unexpectedly. The protected island is not big, but it justifiably bears a gloomy name: "You go - you will not return".
The beginning of the storm
Once a researcher of the reserve with two gamekeepers was returning in a sledge to the central farmstead. The sky was covered with clouds. The wind had died down. Despite it being midday, not a single bird could be seen anywhere. A herd of saigas ran away, heading for the sand dunes on the coast.
Everything was quiet. - The storm is about to start! - said the old huntsman, looking around anxiously and urging his horse on. He had lived on the island for more than ten years. The estate of the reserve was already close, it was no more than two kilometers away. The cottages were clearly visible. That's why nobody paid much attention to the huntsman's alarm. Suddenly a breeze came from the sea. Gust after gust became stronger.
At first rare snowflakes flew, and suddenly a snow storm whistled furiously on the island. Everything was hidden in snow whirlwinds. A few steps away, nothing could be seen. It happened incredibly fast.
People trapped in the snow
For half an hour they rode without much alarm, directing the horse to where the buildings were hidden in the snow veil. But time was passing, and the homestead of the reserve was not to be seen. The fear of getting lost and freezing near the house crept more and more surely into everyone's soul. The bewildered people were pointing the horse one way and then another. Faces were frozen. Hands and feet began to stiffen.
The rifle had fallen out of the sleigh somewhere, and now there was nothing to poke at the snow from time to time: if there was ice under us, then we should turn back as soon as possible: otherwise we could unnoticeably find ourselves on the sea ice and move away from the shore. The horse stopped, breathing heavily. He was beginning to lose strength, dragging the sledge over the loose snow in different directions.
- We'll freeze like this, though. Let's harness the horse and let him go: he will find the way better than us, and we will follow him!
- said the old huntsman.
A horse finds its way
So they did. They tied the reins to the collar, took hold of them and let the horse go. The horse turned back at once and went with his ears perked up, not where it seemed that everyone had to go. Soon a dark spot peeped out of the snow swirls. It was the stable - the horse led confidently not only to the manor house, but even to the door of his stable.
By morning the storm had subsided. The blacksmith went to dig out the entrance to the forge. It was away from the houses of the manor. Suddenly he came back with a rifle in his hands. It was sticking out of the snowdrift. So they had driven between the forge and the manor house yesterday without noticing them!
