believed it was true. A proud birthright was all that counted for me. Those who had none? even when I admired them, as I admired Aeddan, as I learned to admire Craddoc? I deemed them lesser because of it. Without knowing them, I judged them less than what they were. Now I see them as true men. Noble? They are far nobler than I.
'I am not proud of myself,' Taran went on. 'I may never be again. If I do find pride, I'll not find it in what I was or what I am, but what I may become. Not in my birth, but in myself.'
'All things considered, then,' replied the bard, 'the best thing would be to pack our gear and start for Caer Dallben.'
Taran shook his head. 'I cannot face Dallben or Coll. One day, perhaps. Not now. I must make my own way, earn my own keep. Somehow, the robin must scratch for his own worms.' He stopped suddenly and looked, wondering, at the bard. 'Orddu? those were her words. I heard them only with my ears. Until now, I did not understand with my heart.'
'Scratching for worms is unappetizing, to say the best of it,' Fflewddur answered. 'But it's true, everyone should have a skill. Take myself, for example. King though I am, as a bard you'll find none better?' A harp string snapped, and for a moment it appeared that several others might give way.
'Yes, well, aside from all that,' Fflewddur said hastily, , 'if you don't mean to go home, then I suggest the Free Commots. The craftsmen there might welcome a willing apprentice.'
Taran thought for some moments, then nodded. 'So shall I do. Now will I scorn no man's welcome.'
The bard's face fell. 'I? I fear I can't go with you, old friend. There's my own realm waiting. True enough, I'm happier wandering as a bard than sitting as a king. But already I've been too long away.'
'Then our ways must part again,' Taran replied. 'Will there ever be an end to saying farewell?'
'But Gurgi does not say farewell to kindly master,' cried Gurgi, as Fflewddur went to gather up his gear. 'No, no, humble Gurgi toils at his side!'
Taran bowed his head and turned away. 'If the day comes when I deserve your faithfulness that will be prize enough for me.'
'No, no!' protested Gurgi. 'Not prizings! Gurgi only gives what is in his heart to give! He stays and asks nothing more. Once you comforted friendless Gurgi. Now let him comfort sorrowful master!'
Taran felt the creature's hand on his shoulder. 'Dallben spoke truth, old friend,' he murmured. 'Staunchness and good sense? All that and more. But your comfort stands me in better stead than all the cleverness in Prydain.'
NEXT MORNING TARAN and Fflewddur took leave of one another for the second time. Despite the bard's protest that a Fflam could always find his way; Taran insisted on Kaw's going along as a guide. Once this task was done, Taran urged the crow to return to Caer Dallben or, if it pleased him better, to fly freely as he chose. 'I'll not bind you to my journey,' Taran said to Kaw, 'for even I don't know where it may end.'
'Then how do we fare?' cried Gurgi. 'Faithful Gurgi follows, oh, yes! But where does kindly master begin?'
The valley seemed suddenly empty as Taran stood, unanswering, looking at the silent cottage and the small mound of stones marking Craddoc's resting place. 'Times there were,' Taran said, almost to himself, 'when I believed I was building my own prison with my own hands. Now I wonder if I shall ever labor as well and gain as much.'
He turned to the waiting Gurgi. 'Where?' He knelt, plucked a handful of dry grass from the turf, and cast it into the air. The freshening wind bore the blades eastward, toward the Free Commots.
'There,' Taran said. 'As the wind blows, so do we follow it.'
SINCE NEITHER TARAN nor Gurgi wished to leave the sheep behind, the wayfarers departed from the valley with the small flock bleating after them. Taran intended offering the animals to the first farmstead with good grazing land, yet several days passed and he saw no inhabited place. The two companions had started in a southeasterly direction, but Taran soon gave Melynlas free rein and, though aware the stallion was bearing more east than south, he paid little heed until they drew near the banks of a wide, rapid-flowing river.
Here, the pasture stretched broad and fair. Ahead he glimpsed an empty sheepfold; he noticed no flock, but the gate of the enclosure stood open as though awaiting the animals' return at any moment. The low-roofed cottage and sheds were neat and well-kept. A pair of shaggy goats browsed near the dooryard. Taran blinked in surprise, for set about the cottage were all manner of woven baskets, some large, some small, some rising on stilts, and others seemingly dropped at random. Several trees by the river held wooden platforms, and along the riverbank itself Taran caught sight of what appeared to be a weir of carefully woven branches. Wooden stakes secured a number of nets and fishing lines drifting in the current.
Puzzling over this farmhold, surely the strangest he had seen, Taran drew closer, dismounted, and as he did so a tall figure ambled from the shed and made his way toward the companions. Taran glimpsed the farm wife peering from the cottage window. At the same time, as if out of nowhere, half-a-dozen children of different ages burst into sight and began running and skipping toward the flock, laughing gaily and shouting to one another: 'They're here! They're here!' Seeing Gurgi, they turned their attention from the sheep to cluster around him, clapping their hands in delight and calling out such merry-hearted greetings that the astonished creature could only laugh and clap his own hands in return.
The man who stood before Taran was thin as a stick with lank hair tumbling over his brow and blue eyes bright as a bird's. Indeed, his narrow shoulders and spindly legs made him look like a crane or stork. His jacket was too short in the arms, too long in the body, and his garments seemed pieced together with patches of all sizes, shapes, and colors.
'I am Llonio Son of Llonwen,' he said, with a friendly grin and a wave of his hand. 'A good greeting to you, whoever you may be.'
Taran bowed courteously. 'My name? my name is Taran.'
'No more than that?' said Llonio. 'As a name, my friend, it's cropped a little short.' He laughed good-naturedly. 'Shall I call you Taran Son of Nobody? Taran of Nowhere? Since you're alive and breathing, obviously you're the son of two parents. And you've surely ridden here from somewhere else.'
'Call me, then, a wanderer,' Taran replied.
'Taran Wanderer? So be it, if that suits you.' Llonio's glance was curious, but he asked no further.
When Taran then spoke of seeking pasture for the sheep, Llonio nodded briskly.
'Why, here shall they stay, and my thanks to you,' he exclaimed. 'There's no grazing fresher and sweeter, and no sheepfold safer. We've seen to that and labored since the first thaw to make it so.'
'But I fear they may crowd your own flock,' Taran said, though he admired Llonio's pastureland and the stoutly built enclosure, and would have been, well content to leave the sheep with him.
'My flock?' Llonio answered, laughing. 'I had none until this moment! Though we've been hoping and waiting and the children have been talking of little else. A lucky wind it was that brought you to us. Goewin, my wife, needs wool to clothe our young ones. Now we'll have fleece and to spare.'
'Wait, wait,' put in Taran, altogether baffled, 'do you mean you cleared a pasture and built a sheepfold without having any sheep at all? I don't understand. That was work in vain?'
'Was it now?' asked Llonio, winking shrewdly. 'If I hadn't, would you be offering me a fine flock in the first place; and in the second, would I have the place to keep them? Is that not so?'
'But you couldn't have known,' Taran began.
'Ah, ah,' Llonio chuckled, 'why, look you, I knew that with any kind of luck a flock of sheep was bound to come along one day. Everything else does! Now honor us by stopping here a while. Our fare can't match our thanks, but we'll feast you as best we can.
Before Taran could answer, Llonio bent down to one of the little girls who was staring round-eyed at Gurgi. 'Now then, Gwenlliant, run see if the brown hen's chosen to lay us an egg today.' He turned to Taran. 'The brown hen's a moody creature,' he said. 'But when she has a mind to, she puts down a handsome egg.' He then set the rest of the children running off on different tasks, while Taran and Gurgi watched astonished at the hustle and bustle in this most peculiar household. Llonio led the two into the cottage where Goewin gave them a warm welcome and bade them sit by the hearth. In no time Gwenlliant was back holding an egg in out-stretched hands.
'An egg!' cried Llonio, taking it from her, raising it aloft, and peering as if he had never seen one before. 'An egg it is! The finest the brown hen's given us! Look at the size! The shape! Smooth as glass and not a crack on it.
