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summer, but the next one instead, for I deem it will be that long ere all will
be ready for that encounter. But fear not, I shall come, and I think others
will too."
Together the Elf and the Warrow stepped out of the Red Boar to join Cotton;
and the pair of buccen said their goodbyes to Shannon, and the Elf climbed up
on the waggon and flicked the reins, and drove back in the direction of Luren
Ford as the Warrows watched. Finally Perry and Cotton turned and clambered
aboard their ponies and began the journey north and west, up the post Road
toward the Boskydells, their pack pony trailing behind.
On the fourth day along the route, the Warrows came to a fork in the road: the
Post Road turned northwards, heading for Stonehill; the left-hand road, the
Tineway, swung westerly, making for Tine Ford on the Spindle River, and the
Boskydells beyond. Along this way the buccen turned, and in the afternoon of
the next day they came to the great Spindlethom Barrier. Into the towering
bramble they rode, following the way through the vast tangle. It was late
afternoon when they crossed over Tine Ford and again entered the long thorny
tunnel on the far side. Another hour or so they rode, and it was dusk when
they finally emerged from the
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DEMHI5 L McKIERttAM
Barrier and came into the region known as Downdell. At last they were back in
the Boskydells.
On the west side of the Spindlethorn they stopped the ponies and dismounted
and stood looking out upon the land. Cotton peered through the twilight to the
north and west, and filled his lungs with air. "It sure does feel good to be
back in the Bosky," he observed, "back from them Foreign Parts. Why, here even
the air has the right smell to it, though it's winter and the fields are
waiting for the spring tilling, if you take my meaning. But though we're back
in the Dells, we've still got a good bit left to go before we're back to The
Root about fifty leagues or so. Right, Mister Perry?" And Cotton turned to
Perry, awaiting his answer.
But Perry was gazing back toward the thorny growth, along the dark road that
they had come, looking in the direction of faraway Kraggen-cor, and his eyes
brimmed with tears. "Wha . .. what, Cotton? Oh yes, another fifty leagues and
we'll be home." And he quickly brushed his eyes with his sleeve and began
fumbling with his pony's cinch strap.
The way from the Spindle River toward Eastwood and beyond to Woody Hollow,
though long, was not arduous. And the Warrows rode during the day and camped
at night, as they had throughout their journeys. On the fourth morning after
entering the Boskydells they awakened to a light snowfall. They had camped
south of Brackenboro on the eastern side of a trace of a road in the eaves of
the Eastwood standing near. After breakfast they prepared to cut
cross-country, striking directly for Byroad Lane through Budgens to Woody
Hollow.
As they rode, the snow thickened, but mere was little wind and the flakes fell
gently. And for the first time in a long, long while, Cotton burst into song,
and soon he was joined by Perry:
The snowflakes fall unto the ground,
In crystal dresses turning 'round,
Each one so white,
Their touch so light,
And falling down upon the mound.
THE BREGA PATH
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Yo ho! Yo ho! On sleighs we go, To slip and slide on a wild ride. Yo ho! Yo
ho! Around the bend, I wish this ride would never end.
The snow lies all across the land
And packs and shapes unto the hand.
Rolls into balls,
Shapes into walls,
Makes better forts than those of sand.
Yo ho! Yo ho! Let's throw the snow, From bright fort walls sling white
snowballs. Yo ho! Yo ho! Here comes a hat. Let fly the snow, knock it
kersplat!
Let fly the snow, knock it: Kersplat!
And both Warrows found themselves laughing in glee.
They rode all through the daylight hours and came to Byroad Lane at dark. By
then the snow was nearly a foot deep, and their ponies chuffed with the
effort. Still the flakes swirled down thickly, but there was only a slight
breeze, and neither Warrow was uncomfortable.
The ponies plodded through Budgens and past the Blue Bull. Yellow light shone
out through the inn windows and across the white snow. Singing came from
within; and as the two rode by, someone stepped through the door, and the song
burst forth loudly, only to be muffled again when the door swung shut.
The Warrows rode on, and finally crossed the bridge over the Dingle-rill and
passed beyond the mill. Their ponies plodded up into Hollow End, and they came
at last to the curved hedge along the snow-covered stone walkway to The Root.
They had dismounted and were tethering the ponies to the hedge fence when the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]