The mighty ships of the House of Don floated in Avren Harbor like a flock of golden-winged gulls, poised for flight. Since the first ray of dawn, a flurry of activity had coursed along the shore, as men hauled crate after crate and barrel after barrel of supplies across the docks and up the gangplanks. A score of pavilions dotted the misty shoreline, proudly displaying the bright colors of every royal family with kinship to the House of Don. Among them flew the battle flag of Fflewddur Fflam, unofficial bard and official king: a flame-tailed, red rooster, strutting across a field of gold.
The bard-king himself was not inside his tent, but sitting instead atop a large boulder some distance away from the crowd. Gusts of sea wind whipped his spiky, yellow hair across his forehead as he gazed westward over the cresting waves to the horizon. Llyan, the giant mountain cat he rode as a steed, rested by his side, but he was otherwise alone. Absentmindedly, Fflewddur scratched between Llyan's ears and under her chin, eliciting a deep and rumbling purr. Normally, the sound would have soothed him. Not so that day; his nerves jangled, and his thoughts tossed about on waves of trepidation. Being without his old harp didn't help matters in the least. Without strings to pluck, his fingers felt restless, and he had no recourse to vent his tangled emotions. It was no ordinary voyage that lay ahead.
He simply couldn't wrap his head around leaving the only land he had ever known, for one he knew so little about. Oh, he had heard tales of the Summer Country, to be sure—but tales are tales, and seldom accurate, as he knew all too well. No, he had only Dallben and Gwydion's claims to cling to: that it was a mystical land without suffering or death, and the rightful home of enchantment.
Enchantment. Fflewddur shuddered at the very thought of it. He'd already encountered more of that than he'd ever care to. Yet, there he was, bound for a land rife with it. Eternal life was all well and good, and he certainly relished the prospect of studying to be a proper bard there, under the mentorship of the legendary Taliesin. But, could he truly be without trouble or care if surrounded by magic—and, more importantly, without his most trusted companions by his side?
He had hoped that Taran and Eilonwy would travel to the harbor for one final farewell, but Eilonwy had flatly refused, saying it was hard enough to bid good-bye at Caer Dallben without actually seeing them board the ships and sail off. "At least this way," she'd claimed, "I can imagine you've never left Prydain at all, and might pop up again at any moment." There was a certain practicality in that, Fflewddur had to admit—no reason to draw out the pain of separation, or heighten it with an edge of finality. And yet…
He exhaled a long sigh. "I wish I could be as content as you, old girl," he lamented to Llyan, giving the great cat another few strokes over her powerful shoulder. "You have no idea what sort of journey we have in store, do you? Although, neither do I, for the matter of that."
Llyan's ears pricked forward upon hearing his sigh. She cocked her head slightly to one side, curious, then let out a quiet, concerned mew and nuzzled into the bard's hand. Fflewddur smiled ruefully. At least, with Llyan and Gurgi still at his side, he wouldn't be facing that journey alone.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded on the gravelly shore behind them. Fflewddur twisted around to see Gwydion approaching. The tall warrior looked as wolf-like and weather-beaten as always, with the late morning sun highlighting every crease in his broad face and each streak of silver in his hair. Yet, his demeanor was much lighter than Fflewddur had ever witnessed, as though he had finally shaken an immense weight from his shoulders.
"Lord Gwydion—or is it King, still? Or, back to Prince?" Fflewddur hastily stood and bowed, but Gwydion waved the formality aside.
Gwydion flashed a rare smile. "No need for any of them among old comrades—particularly from one who saved my life but a season ago. But tell me, what brings you to this lonesome outpost? It surprises me to see you so far from the center of the crowd."
"Oh, I simply needed a bit of space alone with my thoughts…" Fflewddur replied, "and one final chance to appreciate the view from Prydain's shore."
Gwydion turned his own eyes to the sea. "I think I would be doing much the same thing, myself, if I could afford the time," he acknowledged. "Alas, there is too much yet to prepare for this voyage. You are ready to board the ships this evening? We will be setting sail with the morning tide, around dawn, so all must be aboard tonight to avoid delay."
"Ready? But of course! A Fflam is always ready for anything! Why, I had my belongings gathered up within an hour of arriving here."
Amusement flashed briefly across Gwydion's face, but his gaze quickly turned searching. "And yet, you seem troubled… The prospect of our journey still weighs heavily upon you?"
"No, no, not at all!" the bard assured him. "It will be a grand voyage, I'm sure—the golden ships of Don sailing back to their ancestral land on the winds of victory! I was just beginning to compose a song about it, in fact."
Gwydion gazed at him with a look of benevolent skepticism.
"That is to say," Fflewddur amended, "it ought to be a grand voyage. Only…" He frowned slightly. "I can't seem to escape the feeling of going to a festival the very day after a burial ceremony. The thrill simply isn't what it ought to be."
Gwydion nodded slowly in understanding. "Indeed, it is difficult to leave behind steadfast companions and a beloved homeland—all the more so when you know there are tasks yet unfinished. I do not deny that it weighs heavily on my own mind. However, I know those tasks are not mine to undertake."
"How's that?" Fflewddur asked, puzzled. "Simply because of what was written in the Book of Three? But did Dallben himself not say that it could as well be called the book of 'if'? And that the deeds of a man, not the words of a prophecy, are what shape his destiny?"
"You remember keenly," Gwydion replied with a wry smile. "Dallben did say that, and he was not wrong. No, in truth, we are not departing simply because some words on a page commanded it. Rather, I believe those words are a mirror reflecting the truth to which we have come. As one season turns to another, so too, must Prydain pass into a new age. The House of Don saw this land through a dark, cold winter in the shadow of Annuvin. Now, that time has passed, and a new sun must rise. If we were to remain, I fear we would cast a shadow of our own that would only hinder new growth.
"Hear me well," he continued, sensing the bard's lingering confusion and nascent protest. "Our continued presence might undermine the faith people have in Taran and Eilonwy as the rightful High King and Queen. To some, it would make them seem like mere puppets of the House of Don—useless figureheads, to be disregarded or even swept away. Others, including longtime opponents of my house, would fault them for maintaining ties with us at all, and therefore refuse to swear their allegiance. Such outcomes would sow discord at the very time when unity is needed most." He shook his head sadly. "No, the Sons and Daughters of Don cannot remain. My heart knows that as surely as I know an oak must shed its leaves in autumn—however much that knowledge pains me."
"Yes… I suppose I take your meaning…" Fflewddur said reluctantly. "I only wish my heart were as certain." He went silent for a while, casting his gaze once more across the crashing waves. Gwydion stood beside him in patient silence.
"I keep thinking back to when I was called upon to become king in my own realm," Fflewddur continued after a time. "I dreaded it—absolutely dreaded it. Kingship didn't suit me one bit, and I knew it, and I've chafed at it to this very day. Nevertheless, taking up the crown—however distasteful that was—still felt like the right thing to do. I was able to take some pride in it, at least. But this…" he shook his head in bewilderment. "It is my duty to leave—that I know. Yet, I cannot shake the feeling that I am turning away from my true place in this world instead of toward it. It feels as wrong as water running uphill."
Gwydion scrutinized the bard for a long moment before speaking again. His green-flecked eyes were unflinching, but not without compassion. "You will do what you know in your heart that you must, Son of Godo. I have no doubt of that—nor would I gainsay it."
The words themselves were straightforward enough, but their tone suggested otherwise. Fflewddur squirmed internally; like so many times before, he had the distinct impression that the old warrior was looking directly into his heart, but only telling half of what he saw there. Gwydion, smiling again, gripped the bard's shoulders in firm reassurance and nodded once. Then, without another word, he strode off, back toward the bustling encampment.
If possible, Fflewddur's thoughts were even more muddled than before. A Fflam was always dutiful—but where did that duty truly lie? With some distant ties of kinship, pulling him to a strange land? What of his duty to the subjects of his own realm? Self-reliant folk though they were, they could use some leadership to discourage overly-ambitious lords from trying to usurp control. The change of circumstance was so sudden, too. He'd had no chance to do any better than send a messenger to inform them of his very permanent departure, which hardly seemed like fair notice. And what of his duty to his own friends? He, himself, was no paragon of kingship—about that, he had no delusions—but he certainly had more experience with governance than Taran and Eilonwy. If he were able to stay, he might be of some help as they adjusted to their new rank and responsibilities. One never abandoned comrades in a time of need…
With another heavy sigh, Fflewddur went back to studying the wind-tossed sea. At the moment, its depths seemed easier to plumb than the depths of his own mind.
By late afternoon, heavy clouds had swept in, bearing a damp chill upon their flanks. Fflewddur and Gurgi huddled around a small fire while they discussed the voyage ahead.
"As I see it," the bard said, prodding the coals before them, "we shouldn't be forced to go to the Summer Country anyway. In my experience, prophecies are sketchy things at best, and I hardly see how this one precisely applies to us." Gurgi tilted his shaggy head in thought as Fflewddur continued. "Take Llyan, for instance. Yes, in strict point of fact, she's an enchanted creature. However, she wasn't born thus, and certainly didn't choose that fate, so I don't see why she should be forced to leave. And what of you?" he went on. "You weren't obligated to go in the first place. Not that you don't deserve to," he added hastily, "but you were asked along because of your brave deeds, not because some old prophecy demanded it. By rights, you should have some say in the matter."
"Yes, yes," Gurgi chimed in. "Clever Gurgi is no little lamb to be herded about! He can choose for himself whether to go on boatings and floatings to far-off lands. Kindly master told him to go, but he would surely forgive poor, lonely Gurgi for disobeying."
"Without a doubt!" Fflewddur agreed. "As for myself: well, I'm only a very distant relation to the House of Don, if truth be told. Yes, there was some illicit tryst several generations back that links us—no one liked to talk about it much—but that's not much to boast of, and certainly nothing that would threaten Taran's hold on the throne. I can't see how it would cause any harm if I stayed behind as well." He scowled slightly and jabbed at the coals more vigorously than before. "Great Belin, there are important quests yet to be had in Prydain and grand songs to be sung of them—and I, for one, don't want to miss out! What good is eternal life with no adventure in it?"
"But what about the commands of wise and powerful enchanter, and noble warrior, and greatest of all bards? Gurgi is afraid to go against their wishes…"
"Hmmm." Fflewddur's scowl deepened. "Yes, that is more of a problem, isn't it? Dallben, Gwydion, and Taliesin are three not men I'd like to defy, by any means—and they are so keen-eyed and quick-witted that it would be hard to get even a field mouse past them. But a Fflam is bold!" he went on. "No doubt, we can find some way. Why, I've plotted dozens of stealthy escapes, and…" he trailed off with a reflexive glance over his shoulder, still rather haunted by the ghost of his truthful harp and its snapping strings. "Yes, well… I've been involved in a handful of successful ones, at least!"
Gurgi sprang to his feet, carried away by the bard's enthusiasm. "And brave, cunning Gurgi will help! Oh, yes! He never wanted to leave kindly master anyway."
"Sshhh," Fflewddur whispered, gesturing for the creature to sit back down. He scanned the area to see if anyone had heard. "Keep quiet, or we'll lose our cover before we're even under it." Chastened, Gurgi sank back down on his driftwood seat and wrapped his shaggy arms around himself.
"Well, it's settled, then," Fflewddur continued, driving his fire stick into the sand for emphasis. "There will be no grand voyage for us tomorrow, my friend! Not to the Summer Country, that is—we shall make for Caer Dathyl instead, and straight away! Now, we simply need to devise a plan…"
The pair of them wracked their brains for quite some time, tossing up one escape scenario after another, only to shoot them down for impracticality or ineffectiveness. Impatient worry began to set in—time was running out. The sun was dipping lower on the horizon, and the travelers thronging the beach had begun to board the great ships. Most wore an air of excited impatience, eager to be one step closer to departure after so much waiting. Fflewddur and Gurgi joined them in boarding, but were unable to share their enthusiasm.
Nor, apparently, could Llyan. Whether she sensed her companions' disquiet or had developed a sudden distaste for ships, her earlier contentment vanished the moment she set foot on the dock. A low, growling whine issued from her throat. Her ears flattened against her head. She slunk low across the wooden planks, only moving forward at repeated nudges from the bard. Once aboard the ship, her agitation only grew. She yowled incessantly, loped back and forth across the deck, swatted at the rigging, snagged her claws in the sails, and hissed fiercely at anyone who dared to cross her path. Her thick tail lashed back and forth, swatting more than a few sailors as they tried to skirt around her. Before long, she'd made an enemy of nearly everyone aboard. Likewise, even her beloved bard seemed to have become a source of vexation for her: periodically, she glowered back and forth between the shoreline and Fflewddur, letting out accusatory, plaintive meows, as if the voyage were all his doing and his responsibility to set right.
"Get that beast under control before she knocks someone overboard or sparks a mutiny!" the ship captain bellowed at Fflewddur.
"Doing my best!" Fflewddur panted as he chased Llyan across the ship from stem to stern, trying to corral her. "Here! Here now! Come on old girl, settle down!" he called out in vain. "Drat and blast, this would be no trouble at all if I still had a harp handy," he muttered to himself, stopping to wipe his streaming brow. "Somehow, I doubt that a rousing sailors' song would have quite the right soothing effect…"
Gurgi tried to aid the beleaguered bard, but to no avail. Llyan merely leaped over his head or swatted him aside with her massive paws. After a solid hour of effort, he and Fflewddur had exhausted themselves, with no sign of Llyan calming down. They collapsed for a moment onto the deck, leaning against the gunwales and attempting to catch their breath.
"It's no use," Fflewddur groaned. "When Llyan takes it into her head to do something, there's no dissuading her. And in this case, she seems bent on causing as much havoc as possible."
"Oh, woeful weariness! Oh, troublesome thrashings and crashings!" Gurgi moaned. "Courageous Gurgi is too weak to catch a mighty mountain cat. But, if she does not quiet herself soon, angry sailors will throw her off of the ship! Then how will she join us in the land of no crying or dying?"
Inspiration flashed across the bard's weary visage. "That's it!" he said in an exultant whisper. "Great Belin, I should have thought of it before! Llyan's antics may be just the escape route we need!"
Gurgi looked absolutely bemused. "But how? Gurgi has gained much wisdom, but even he cannot see how that will help at all..."
"Everyone on the ship is fed up with Llyan's misbehavior, no?" Fflewddur asked. Gurgi nodded. "Well, we use that an excuse to go ashore for a bit—claim it's to let her run around and tire herself out, so she's more docile when we come back aboard. Then, once we're ashore, we make a run for it instead! By the time anyone realizes we're gone, it will be too late to come after us! I doubt they'll send out a search party in the dark."
Gurgi's eyes were alight. "Then we can rejoin noble master with warm welcomings! Oh, he and Eilonwy will be so surprised to see humble, faithful, valiant Gurgi again!" The wooly creature hugged himself in joyous expectation.
"We'll need a diversion aboard the ship, though, to make sure no attention is on us…" Fflewddur mused, rubbing his chin, "and for that, we will need some help…" He frowned slightly as an idea materialized. "Hmm. No, I don't see any way around it; I'm afraid we shall have to ask Glew."
Gurgi scowled and groaned at the prospect. "But puny little giant never leaves off sighings and cryings, and moanings and groanings! He makes poor Gurgi's head hurt," Gurgi protested, clapping his furry palms over his ears.
"I know, I know…" Fflewddur agreed. "I don't fancy the idea of relying on Glew any more than you do. That peevish little weasel always seems to cause more trouble than someone his size should reasonably be capable of. Yet, he's the only one I can think of who might go along with our plan—if we can convince him that it will feather his own nest."
They found Glew hunkered down on a crate, gnawing away at a strip of dried meat. After spending so many years trapped and hungry in a cavern on the Isle of Mona, the former giant was still preoccupied with food. His zest for mealtimes nearly rivalled that of King Smoit, who was easily more than twice his size.
"Glew!" Fflewddur called out cheerily as they approached. "Just the man we need!"
"I don't like the sound of that..." Glew grumbled around a mouthful of food. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Need for what, exactly?"
"We have a proposition for you, old boy—a scheme that will get us out of your hair, and help us besides!" Fflewddur answered brightly.
"Humph. You're a fine one to ask for help when you were so uncooperative about helping me escape from that dismal cave," retorted Glew. "I'm not all that inclined to listen." He sucked a tooth for a moment or two, deliberating. "But I shall listen, if only to be the bigger man—metaphorically speaking."
Fflewddur rolled his eyes at that, but proceeded to explain the plan and the role they needed Glew to play in it. He was to wait aboard the ship and keep watch until the three companions reached the shore. Then, just before sun-down, he was to set up a commotion on the seaward side of the vessel: cut down a sail, spark a small fire, whatever might draw attention away without causing any lasting damage. Under the cover of that distraction and the growing darkness, Fflewddur, Gurgi, and Llyan would slip away into the woods bordering Great Avren.
"When I was a giant, no one would dream of making such a ridiculous request of me," Glew scoffed. "Even the bats had better manners." He turned his flabby nose up haughtily.
"Oh, bother when you were a giant!" Fflewddur snapped. "You haven't been one for years, and you were a paltry one even then."
Glew sniffed at the affront. "There, you see? You've never treated me with any regard, whatsoever. I see no reason at all why I should take part in your ill-advised plot—and you can't force me to." He tore off another large bite of his meat, as if to end the discussion.
"No, you don't have to help us, you little grub," Fflewddur replied through clenched teeth. "Just bear this in mind, and think on it well: if you choose not to help us, you'll be stuck with us for an eternity in the Summer Country."
Glew gulped hard, nearly choking on his mouthful of food.
"And just think what good company we will be!" Fflewddur continued. "Llyan, Gurgi, and myself all there with you, year after year, after year, after year… and you shall have all the time in the world to make up for your unhelpfulness."
Beads of nervous sweat broke out on Glew's pasty forehead as he glanced back and forth between the three companions. Llyan's tail swished menacingly; her yellow eyes were locked, unblinking, on the former giant. Gurgi bared his teeth in a mischievous smile.
"Well… I suppose I might be persuaded…" Glew conceded at last. He heaved a mighty, self-pitying sigh. "I still say it's a foolish plan and sure to fail, but no one ever asks for my opinion, do they? No, they just drop by after the decision is already made and expect me to go along…"
"Good! We're in agreement, then," Fflewddur said, clapping his hands together and ignoring Glew's petulant grumbling. "It will be as simple as rolling a stone downhill."
Glew sagged dejectedly. "Utter lack of concern, that's what it is," he muttered. "Never a thought given to my inconvenience, waiting aboard that smelly ship for just the right moment to act."
At once, Fflewddur hurried off to speak with the ship's captain about going back ashore. Meanwhile, Gurgi began surreptitiously gathering provisions for their journey; he couldn't take much, lest they arouse suspicion, but it would be enough to get them as far as Caer Cadarn, where King Smoit would surely outfit them properly. The crotchety captain was hesitant at first to let them go, despite Fflewddur's fervent promises to return by sunset. His exasperation with Llyan swayed him in the end, though. With a grunt of permission, he waved the companions off and went back to sorting out the cargo that the mighty cat had left in disarray.
This time, Llyan showed no aversion to either gangplank or dock. She eagerly bounded ahead of Gurgi and Fflewddur, then mewed impatiently for them to join her, whiskers twitching. Upon reaching the beach, she immediately began loping back and forth, her teeth bared in what could only be interpreted as a beaming grin. With every pass, she edged closer to the forest.
"Great Belin," remarked Fflewddur, "If I didn't know better, I'd swear she understands exactly what we mean to do. It's uncanny…"
He and Gurgi drifted as far down the beach as they dared, then sat on the rocks while Llyan frolicked, waiting for sunset. At last, the first streaks of pink and orange began to set the sky alight. It was time. They looked anxiously toward the ship, searching for a sign that Glew's diversion was underway. Stillness. Quiet. Nothing but the lap of waves against the rocks. Fflewddur squinted hard into the distance, waiting… waiting… waiting…
Suddenly, it came: a flame brighter than the setting sun blazed up on the far side of the ship. Shouts of alarm rang out across the otherwise quiet harbor, and there was a mad dash as the crew rushed to extinguish the fire.
"Ha-ha! He's done it!" Fflewddur crowed. "The little fellow pulled it off after all!"
The excitement and color soon drained from his face as he watched the flames licking hungrily at the main mast, threating to climb far higher than expected. Gurgi yelped in horror as the un-hoisted sail itself caught fire. Moments later, most of those aboard were abandoning ship in a panic, scrambling out onto the dock; a few even dove right into the water and began swimming to land.
"Blast it!" Fflewddur exclaimed, clapping his hands to his head in shock. "What has he done?! Clumsy oaf! We didn't need that great a diversion! That's at least the third time the little weasel has fouled up an escape plan! We never should have trusted him."
Aghast, he glanced back and forth between the growing crowd ashore and the troubled ship, torn between his desire to flee while everyone was distracted, and his sense of obligation to ensure that everyone escaped unharmed. He was just about to dash to their aid when he saw that the sailors still aboard had managed to cut down the blazing sail. Frantically, they dragged it away from the mast and heaved it into the sea. A plume of steam rose as it hit the dark water below.
That was enough. Fflewddur snatched up their small bag of provisions and shouted for Gurgi to follow. He ran to grab hold of Llyan, then swung onto her back and pulled his friend up behind him. Llyan, herself, needed no urging. Immediately, she took off down the gravelly beach, muscles churning, leaping over all boulders and driftwood in her path. Fflewddur and Gurgi clung desperately to her fur as she raced up the stony ridge alongside Great Avren and toward the cover of the trees beyond. Once there, she tore through the underbrush as if it were no more than cobwebs, sending stray twigs snapping and lashing in all directions, much to the chagrin of her struggling riders. Soon, the commotion of the harbor faded away, swallowed by the dense forest.
After their initial furious sprint, the companions found it necessary to slow their pace. Llyan was as swift and sure-footed as ever, but the growing darkness made it even more difficult for Fflewddur and Gurgi to avoid being smacked by errant branches. They moved as stealthily as possible, now, hardly daring to hope that their absence had gone unnoticed. Yet, by some stroke of luck, no one seemed to be pursuing them. The forest was quiet save for the sound of birds, and even those faded away as twilight closed in. Before long, the onset of the moonless night forced a halt. The companions took refuge amid a copse of alders and settled into the darkness; there would be no fire that night, just in case they were being followed after all.
The next morning, Fflewddur's conscience caught up with him. How could he ride off on his merry way if the ship lay smoldering behind him, unable to sail—particularly when his own imperfect plan was to blame? He couldn't live with the guilt. No, he would have to return and be certain all had turned out all right. Reluctantly, he shook Gurgi awake and delivered the unfortunate news.
"Go back? No, no, no—we will risk snatchings and catchings if we do!" Gurgi whined, shaking his head vehemently. "We have already escaped! Even Gurgi is wise enough to know that you do not go back to what you were running away from in the first place."
"Alas, I'm afraid we must," Fflewddur replied. "We left them all in a bad spot and, by rights, we should be the first to help. It seemed like everyone made it off of the ship safely, but it would ease my mind to know for sure. We will do our best to remain hidden—the forest edge should be cover enough for that. We won't make ourselves known unless they truly seem to need assistance."
Gurgi did not look terribly convinced, but he acquiesced all the same. Llyan, too, seemed dissatisfied with the change of plans; she walked grudgingly slowly despite the bard's prodding and cajoling, and her tail twitched irritably the entire time. Fortunately, they had not covered as much distance the night before as they'd thought. Even with their stilted pace, they came within sight of the harbor in an hour or so.
As soon as they could hear the pounding surf, Fflewddur motioned for Llyan to halt. He and Gurgi dismounted and began to walk. Tentatively, nervously, they approached the forest's limit, crouching low and taking care to stir up as little noise as possible. Slowly, they reached the ridge and peered out toward the sea.
As it turned out, they needn't have worried: Avren Harbor was almost entirely empty. The golden-sailed ships had vanished like a dream, leaving behind only a few fishing skiffs and the forlorn-looking docks jutting out from the shore.
"Huh. Well, what do you think of that? Do you suppose they had an extra sail stowed away?" Fflewddur asked, scratching his head.
Gurgi shrugged, then looked back toward the empty harbor in wonder.
The bard did likewise. "Hmm. Well, that's a relief!" he said, with forced cheerfulness. "Although, I must say, I'm a mite offended that they didn't make more of an effort to look for us. Not that our absence would warrant an extensive search, mind you, but I would think one or two might have made some attempt… Ah, well. I suppose they hadn't the time. The tide went out, and so did they." He fetched Gurgi an over-enthusiastic clout on the back. "We chart our own course from here on out, my friend! You'll have to find whatever wisdom you seek here in Prydain; and if I intend to keep barding, well, I had better begin looking for a harp. We're no worse off than before, though, really."
He felt a light nudge from behind. Llyan, hearing the note of ambivalence in his voice, had crept up noiselessly and begun rubbing her cheek reassuringly against him. As soon as she had drawn a smile from the bard, her nudging turned insistent, pushing him back toward the path.
"Impatient, are you?" Fflewddur asked. "Away we go, then—off to fulfill the destiny and duty we choose for ourselves!"
Lighter of heart, the companions set forth from the harbor once again, bearing northeast and following the river for a time. Fortunately, it was pleasant weather for travel that day. An early spring chill still bit at their fingers and toes, but the sun's bright rays fell warmly upon their backs. The scent of damp earth suffused the air as the soil woke from its winter slumber. Traces of green were beginning to cloak the banks of Great Avren, and velvety new leaves were bursting forth from the tree limbs above.
Fflewddur and Gurgi relished the scenery in a way they'd scarcely been able to of late. Danger, toil, and full-fledged war had plagued so many of their travels in recent years: flights from the deathless Cauldron-Born; skirmishes with bands of Huntsmen; weary slogs through marshes and mountains in the worst weather imaginable; fields colored by battle flags and blood instead of bright flowers. It was invigorating to have a chance to truly appreciate the landscape, instead of scouting every dark corner and crevice for lurking foes. Their spirits rose steadily with each passing mile. Inspired, Fflewddur began to hum, and then to sing out in time with the rhythm of their steps. Even the pain of being without his old harp could not overshadow his joy at the first flush of spring.
It was a while before he and Gurgi noticed something amiss with Llyan. She'd kept bounding ahead impatiently, so neither had seen much of her that morning. Midway through the day, however, when she scampered back to the bard for another head-scratch, he found, to his shock, that she was a full head or two shorter than usual. The farther they traveled, the more she continued to shrink: first, to the size of Gurgi's old pony; then, to just below Fflewddur's shoulder; then, to the height of Gurgi himself. By the time the sun began to set, she was the size of an ordinary mountain cat—and a modestly sized one at that.
Llyan seemed every bit as bewildered by her new stature as her companions. She stuck close to them, voicing pitiful yowls of frustration and dismay.
"Poor old girl! Glew's magic potions must be wearing off, now that enchantment is vanishing from Prydain" the bard surmised. "That must be quite disconcerting after spending years as a giant. Although," he added with a chuckle, "she still seems to be handling it better that Glew tolerated his own return to normal size. That miserable runt never left off whining about how much better things were in his supposed glory days as a giant…"
Gurgi tried to reassure Llyan, gently stroking her back and tail. "Don't worry, courageous kitty," he said. "Gurgi will still love you, with your purrings and whirrings, whatever size you may be!"
"Quite right, my friend, quite right," Fflewddur chimed in. "I admit, I will miss having such a fantastical creature to ride instead of a common horse, but she will still be welcome company—and no less fierce than before, I warrant. I may have lost a steed, but I've gained a guard-cat!" So saying, he gave her an affectionate pat on the back.
As night descended, the companions stopped, built a small fire, and downed some of the dried meat gleaned from the ship's stores. Still far too excited to sleep, Gurgi volunteered to take the first watch, and sat down with his back braced against a large, fallen oak. Fflewddur stretched out his lanky frame as close to the fire as he dared, grateful for both the warmth and the chance to rest. Although the ground was a bit hard and damp, it suited him far better than the deck of a heaving ship bound for a foreign land. He let out a deep sigh of relief and was soon asleep. Llyan curled up contentedly at his side, purring loudly enough to rival the bard's own occasional, resonant snores.
A raven's cackle tore through the air just before dawn, heralding the first, faint rays of daylight as they cleared the treetops and painted the sky with hues of pale violet and pink. Gurgi, more exhausted than he'd realized, had long since fallen asleep at his post and did not even stir at the bird's cry. The raucous cawing did rouse Fflewddur. With a quiet groan of reluctance, the bard sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes and yawning deeply through the residue of sleep.
Suddenly, a sharp, crackling pop from the nearby fire snapped him to attention. He glanced toward the sound—and instantly sucked in a shocked breath. Was he still in the grasp of a dream? Crouched low beside the nearly extinguished fire was a complete stranger: a slender woman, entirely naked from head to toe, coaxing the embers back to life.
