flickering in and out of the scrubby trees.
'As long as they don't come any closer,' he said to the bard, 'we needn't worry about them.'
'Oh, they won't attack us,' Fflewddur answered. 'Not now, at any rate. They can be infuriatingly patient if they know someone's wounded.' He turned an anxious glance toward Gurgi. 'For them, it's just a matter of waiting.'
'Well, I must say you're a cheerful one,' remarked Eilonwy. 'You sound as if all we had to look forward to was being gobbled up.'
'If they attack, we shall stand them off,' Taran said quietly. 'Gurgi was willing to give up his life for us; I can do no less for him. Above all, we must not lose heart so close to the end of our journey.'
'A Fflam never loses heart!' cried the bard. 'Come wolves or what have you!'
Nevertheless, uneasiness settled over the companions as the gray shapes continued trailing them; and Melyngar, docile and obedient until now, turned skittish. The golden-maned horse tossed her head and rolled her eyes at every attempt to lead her.
To make matters worse, Fflewddur declared their progress through the hills was too slow.
'If we go any farther east,' said the bard, 'we'll run into some really high mountains. The condition we're in, we couldn't possibly climb them. But here, we're practically walled in. Every path has led us roundabout. The cliffs there,' he went on, pointing toward the towering mass of rock to his left, 'are too rugged to get over. I had thought we'd find a pass before now. Well, that's the way of it. We can only keep on bearing north as much as possible.'
'The wolves don't seem to have any trouble finding their way,' said Eilonwy.
'My dear girl,' answered the bard, with some indignation, 'if I were able to run on four legs and sniff my dinner a mile away, I doubt I'd have any difficulties either.'
Eilonwy giggled. 'I'd love to see you try,' she said.
'We do have someone who can run on four legs,' Taran said suddenly. 'Melyngar! If anyone can find their way to Caer Dathyl, she can.'
The bard snapped his fingers. 'That's it!' he cried. 'Every horse knows its way home! It's worth trying? and we can't be worse off than we are now.'
'For an Assistant Pig-Keeper,' said Eilonwy to Taran, 'you do come up with some interesting ideas now and then.'
When the companions started off again, Taran dropped the bridle and gave Melyngar her head. With the half- conscious Gurgi bound to her saddle, the white horse trotted swiftly ahead at a determined gait.
By mid-afternoon, Melyngar discovered one pass which, Fflewddur admitted, he himself would have overlooked. As the day wore on, Melyngar led them swiftly through rocky defiles to high ridges. It was all the companions could do to keep up with her. When she cantered into a long ravine, Taran lost sight of her for a moment and hurried forward in time to glimpse the mare as she turned sharply around an outcropping of white stone.
Calling the bard and Eilonwy to follow quickly, Taran ran on ahead. He stopped suddenly. To his left, on a high shelf of rock, crouched an enormous wolf with golden eyes and lolling red tongue. Before Taran could draw his sword, the lean animal sprang.
Chapter 13
The Hidden Valley
THE IMPACT OF THE HEAVY, furry body caught Taran full in the chest, and sent him tumbling. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of Fflewddur. The bard, too, had been borne to earth under the paws of another wolf. Eilonwy still stood, though a third animal crouched in front of her.
Taran's hand flew to his sword. The gray wolf seized his arm. The animal's teeth, however, did not sink into his flesh, but held him in an unshakeable grip.
At the end of the ravine a huge, robed figure suddenly appeared. Melyngar stood behind him. The man raised his arm and spoke a command. Immediately, the wolf holding Taran relaxed his jaws and drew away, as obediently as a dog. The man strode toward Taran, who scrambled to his feet.
'You have saved our lives,' Taran began. 'We are grateful.'
The man spoke again to the wolves and the animals crowded around him, whining and wagging their tails. He was a strange-looking figure, broad and muscular, with the vigor of an ancient but sturdy tree. His white hair reached below his shoulders and his beard hung to his waist. Around his forehead he wore a narrow band of gold, set with a single blue jewel.
'From these creatures,' he said, in a deep voice that was stern but not unkind, 'your lives were never in danger. But you must leave this place. It is not an abode for the race of men.'
'We were lost,' Taran said. 'We had been following our horse…'
'Melyngar?' The man turned a pair of keen gray eyes on Taran. Under his deep brow they sparkled like frost in a valley. 'Melyngar brought me four of you? I understood young Gurgi was alone. By all means, then, if you are friends of Melyngar. It is Melyngar, isn't it? She looks so much like her mother; and there are so many I cannot always keep track of the names.'
'I know who you are,' cried Taran. 'You are Medwyn!'
'Am I now?' the man answered with a smile that furrowed his face. 'Yes, I have been called Medwyn. But how should you know that?'
'I am Taran of Caer Dallben. Gwydion, Prince of Don, was my companion, and he spoke of you before? before his death. He was journeying to Caer Dathyl, as we are now. I never hoped to find you.'
'You were quite right,' Medwyn answered. 'You could not have found me. Only the animals know my valley. Melyngar led you here. Taran, you say? Of Caer Dallben?' He put an enormous hand to his forehead. 'Let me see. Yes, there are visitors from Caer Dallben, I am sure.'
Taran's heart leaped. 'Hen Wen!' he cried. Medwyn gave him a puzzled glance. 'Were you seeking her? Now, that is curious. No, she is not here.'
'But I had thought…'
'We will speak of Hen Wen later,' said Medwyn. 'Your friend is badly injured, you know. Come, I shall do what I can for him.' He motioned for them to follow.
The wolves padded silently behind Taran, Eilonwy, and the bard. Where Melyngar waited at the end of the ravine, Medwyn lifted Gurgi from the saddle, as if the creature weighed no more than a squirrel. Gurgi lay quietly in Medwyn's arms.
The group descended a narrow footpath. Medwyn strode ahead, as slowly and powerfully as if a tree were walking. The old man's feet were bare, but the sharp stones and pebbles did not trouble him. The path turned abruptly, then turned again. Medwyn passed through a cut in a bare shoulder of the cliff, and the next thing Taran knew, they suddenly emerged into a green, sunlit valley. Mountains, seemingly impassable, rose on all sides. Here the air was gentler, without the tooth of the wind; the grass spread rich and tender before him. Set among tall hemlocks were low, white cottages, not unlike those of Caer Dallben.
At the sight of them, Taran felt a pang of homesickness. Against the face of the slope behind the cottages, he saw what appeared at first to be rows of moss-covered tree trunks; as he looked, to his surprise, they seemed more like the weather worn ribs and timbers of a long ship. The earth covered them almost entirely; grass and meadow flowers had sprung up to obliterate them further and make them part of the mountain itself.
'I must say the old fellow's well tucked away here,' whispered Fflewddur. 'I could never have found the path in, and I doubt I could find the path out.'
Taran nodded. The valley was the most beautiful he had ever seen. Cattle grazed peacefully in the meadow. Near the hemlocks, a small lake caught the sky and sparkled blue and white. The bright plumage of birds flashed among the trees. Even as he stepped across the lush green of the turf, Taran felt exhaustion drain from his aching body.
'There's a fawn!' Eilonwy cried with delight.
From behind the cottages, a speckled, long-legged fawn appeared, sniffed the air, then trotted quickly toward Medwyn. The graceful creature paid no attention to the wolves, but frisked gaily at the old man's side. The animal
