they will be. For life continues, and grief fades.'
Of a sudden, the wild piping and stamping dance, the tattoo beat and steely claque, and fierce clapping and savage shouts, all stopped; silence fell heavily down upon the still vale, and not an echo or whisper of the frenzied music remained. And Perry looked and saw that deep dolor pressed a heavy hand down upon them all.
At that moment, Hogon rode up leading two horses, and Cotton shouted in glee, 'Brownie! Downy!' And he leapt up and ran to greet them as Hogon and Brytta smiled widely.
'We thought you would come hence,' explained Hogon, 'so we have kept them nearby.'
'Oh, thank you, Hogon; thank you, Brytta,' bubbled Cotton, and his face was aglow. 'They are a sight for sore eyes.' T'len he turned to the horses, and they nuzzled and nudged the Warrow. 'Why, you rascals, you've grown fat and frisky in these parts! Wull, we're just going to have to work some o' that stoutness off of you.'
And so, when Perry, Cotton, and Shannon said goodbye to the Men of Valon, it was Brownie and Downy in harness pulling the waggon toward the south. And as they at last crested the austral rim of the valley, the trio paused and looked far back into the vale, and waved to the distant Harlingar. And floating up to them on the breeze came the lomly cry of Brytta's black-oxen horn: Taaa-tan, tan-taaa, tan-taaa! {Tit we meet again, fare you well, fare you well.'} And with that faint call echoing in their hearts, Cotton flicked the reins and they passed from the sight of the Vanadurin.
The waggon rolled southward for two days, and just before.sunset of the second day, they reached the River Hath. The ford was shallow, and they made the crossing with ease. The abandoned Old Way turned westward, and they followed its course. They drove by day and camped at night, and because it was winter they found the days short and blustery and the nights long and cold. They dressed as warmly as they could, donning the quilted down-suits given to them by the Dwarves; at night they camped in sheltered ravines and built warm Fires. Still, by night and day alike, the icy chill drove a dull ache deeply into Perry's tender shoulder; and each morning when he awakened, his arm was stiff and could be moved but gingerly.
On the evening of the sixth day from the Dusk-Door, they arrived at the Ford of New Luren. Here, the abandoned way they followed joined the Ralo Road, and when that track passed north of New Luren, it became known as the North Route by some and as the South Route by others, yet most called it the Post Road. Just above Luren, the rivers Hath and Caire joined, and the ever-changing swirl of the waters of their meeting was named the Rivermix. From that point on down to the sea, the river was called Isleborne by all except the Elves, who named it the Fainen. At Luren crossed the trade routes between Rell, Gunar, Harth, and Trellinath, for here was the only ford in the region. And on the west bank of the ford was the site of Luren.
Old Luren had been a city of free trade serving river traffic and road commerce from all the regions around. It had suffered mightily during the ancient Dark Plague-more than half its populace had died-but slowly it had recovered, and though it did not reach its former heights of commerce, still it was a city of importance. But then a great fire raged throughout the city, and Luren was devastated and abandoned.
It was not until about fifty years ago mat New Luren sprang up on the site, mainly serving travellers going up and down the Post Road and the Ralo Road. New Luren was but a small village surrounded by the great Riverwood Forest, yet it had an inn-the Red Boar-where the food was plentiful, the beer drinkable, and the rooms snug and cozy. Cotton drove the waggon across the ford and into the village.
When the three travellers stepped across the threshold and into the Red Boar, all conversation among the locals came to a halt as they craned their necks to get a look at these strangers. At first the Lurenites thought a fair youth and two boys had entered the inn; but then Perry and Cotton doffed their warm jackets, and there before the patrons stood two small warriors in silver and golden armor-and the fair youth in green was suddenly recognized to be one of the legendary Elf Lords. And a murmur washed throughout the common room:
Lor! Look at that. One of the Eld Ones. A Lion! If these are people out of legend, then the two small ones must be Waerlinga, the Wee Folk.
The proprietor, Mister Hoxley Housman, stepped forth.
'Well now, sirs, welcome to the Red Boar,' he boomed, drawing them toward the cheery fireplace, and unlooked-for tears sprang up in Cotton's eyes, for it was the first 'proper place' he'd been in since that night, oh so long ago, at the White Unicom in Stonehill.
The next morning was one of sadness, especially for Perry, for Shannon Silverleaf was turning back to Drimmen-deeve and then going beyond to Darda Galion. Three ponies had been purchased from innkeeper Housman, one for each of the Warrows to ride and one to carry their goods. Shannon would return the horses and waggon to the Dwarves.
Cotton stood outside saying goodbye to Brownie and Downy, while inside the Red Boar, Shannon looked at Perry and smiled. 'Friend Perry, I, too, think I'll visit you in the Bosky-in summer, when the leaves are green and the flowers bloom and your gardens begin putting forth their fruit. Not this coming 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 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.
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.
