Leaving Craddoc's cottage, Fflewddur, Telyn and Gurgi headed northward even more hastily than before, and with many a wary backward glance.
"Good riddance to these hills!" muttered the bard. "We can't leave them behind quickly enough for my taste. Inhospitable and glum they are at best, and downright perilous at worst. I've never had good luck in them—none whatsoever."
"Oh, but mighty mountains have dangers of their own," Gurgi reminded him as he nervously eyed the peaks ahead. "Gurgi remembers the slippings and trippings that the mighty mountains have caused before. Yes, and snowful stormings, too!"
"True enough, but those dangers also mean fewer unwelcome travelers, if you take my meaning," Fflewddur noted. "By this point, I'd rather take my chances with ravines and rubble; if they bring me grief, at least I know it's nothing personal. We should fare well enough, though," he added. "There is a route that cuts through the eastern reaches of the Eagle Mountains. The path is a bit tricky in spots, to be sure, but it is easily followed and will pop us out just a few days' ride from my own realm. Why, I've traversed it hundreds of times! I could do it backwards and in my sleep by now!"
"Is that so?" Telyn asked drily, looking over with a sideways smile and a skeptical brow.
"Ah—that is to say, we shan't have to worry about getting lost so long as I keep my wits about me," Fflewddur amended. "That was merely a figure of speech, you know."
So saying, the companions rode onward. Once they passed from the Hill Cantrevs into the mountains proper, the temperature dropped and land rose more sharply. Spring was still more promise than presence there; the grasses were yet more brown than green, and patches of snow lingered in the deeper crevasses and atop the higher peaks.
As they drew closer to the place where Fflewddur knew the trail began, he scouted a little way ahead. "Aha! Here it is!" he called out from the far side of an outcropping thirty or so paces away. Gurgi and Telyn followed the sound of his voice and came to a small but clearly blazed trailhead, marked with a small cairn. "I knew it was around here somewhere. If we follow this, we will skirt the flanks of those mountain ridges there," he said, pointing, "and come to a pass between the two highest peaks in the distance. It's a narrow trail, but not too steep. We should be able to move fairly quickly."
Ahead, the trail snaked along the mountainside, winding gradually but steadily uphill over open, grassy slopes dotted with gorse. As the companions climbed higher, however, sharp-edged cliffs began to hem them in on both sides—unscalable above and deadly below. By early afternoon, the increasing risk of a fall forced them to dismount and go afoot, picking their way more carefully among the loose stones that littered the path. Even so, they made relatively swift progress, and Fflewddur hummed merrily to the beat of their steps.
Then, they rounded a twist in the trail and the bard's humming abruptly stopped. Before them, a massive slide of fallen boulders barred their way. The sheer cliff face to their right loomed overhead, mocking their plight. The crevasse on their left gaped wide, just waiting to swallow them up should they take one misstep. There was no way to move the boulders, and no hope of leading the horses over them. Fflewddur's shoulders slumped as he stared up at the pile of stone, which promised to be as impenetrable as any castle wall. Gurgi let out a low whine and Telyn swore under her breath. All three stood there a while, scanning for any sign of a breach while their steeds pawed the ground impatiently.
"Gwyn's bones!" Telyn cursed again, kicking a loose stone into the wall of boulders. "Do we turn back, then?"
"I'm afraid so… all the way back to where we began the day, in fact," Fflewddur confirmed. "We'll have to travel farther along the base of the mountains, then pick up a steeper trail that meets up with this one further on."
Gurgi groaned at the thought of so much wasted time and effort. Telyn scowled at the offending boulders. Dejectedly, the three travelers started back down the trail.
Both land and sky seemed to have turned against them. Within an hour or so, a fierce wind kicked up, channeled between the ridges and passes until it seemed to be in the companions' faces no matter which direction they turned. The gusts were so hard and cold at times that they could only breathe in gasps. They bent low, pulled their cloaks over their mouths, and forged ahead with a will.
Dusk was falling by the time the trailhead came back into view, so there was no choice but to make camp and settle in for the night—an entire day lost to misfortune. Dispirited and bone-weary, the companions tied up their horses, settled behind the scant windbreak of some twiggy shrubs, and bolted down what passed for a meal. The winds were still gusting too intensely to build a decent fire, so the exhausted travelers huddled together and resigned themselves to passing a frigid—and likely sleepless—night.
By the next morning, the furious wind had died down to a stiff breeze. Unfortunately, a host of thick, gray storm clouds had ridden in on its back overnight. They now sat brooding on the horizon, waiting to unleash their own breed of trouble. The rains they sent came light but steady at first—a cold drizzle that clung to the grasses and scrub through which the companions rode, soaking them slowly. Yet, as noon approached and the travelers dismounted to begin their ascent once more, the rains began pelting them with a vengeance.
"Drat and blast, if it's not one thing it's another!" the bard grumbled, drawing his cloak more tightly around himself. "A Fflam always tries to look on the bright side of things, but it's rather difficult with so many clouds in the way and a curtain of water streaming off one's hood."
"Oh, miserable drippings and slippings!" Gurgi lamented. "Woeful, cold, wet washings! Even keen-eyed Gurgi can hardly see the trail, though he squints and squints!"
Indeed, the rains were pounding down in such torrents that it was difficult to see more than a few paces ahead. Water coursed along the narrow path like a stream, flooding the companions' shoes and numbing their toes that much faster. They pressed doggedly onward, but the path grew increasingly treacherous.
"What about that outcropping we passed a little way back?" Telyn called out above the watery din. "We could shelter there until the worst of this passes."
"An outcropping?" Fflewddur called back. "I'm afraid I haven't seen much more than the tip of my own nose for a while now. You spotted shelter?"
"Not much, but better than an open sky," Telyn replied.
Gurgi and the bard needed no encouragement. They circled the horses around and followed Telyn back in the direction from which they had come. Within minutes, the outcropping came into view—a hulking mass tilted to one side, several paces from the trail. The companions hastened to reach it and ducked beneath its leeward overhang. In truth, the outcropping provided scant refuge for the already drenched travelers. There was barely enough room for the three to stand, and the horses' hindquarters were still partially out in the rain.
And so, they waited. Down the rains fell, in gusts and sheets—a punishing assault from a pitiless sky. Without motion to warm them, a chill quickly settled into the companions' bones. Telyn fared the worst. She stamped her feet, jumped up and down as much as the cramped space allowed, and vigorously rubbed her hands together in an effort to keep warm, but to no avail; she was trembling like an aspen leaf. Gurgi shifted closer to her, lending whatever heat he could, and exchanged a worried glance with Fflewddur.
"Here, Telyn—give me your hands," the bard said, turning toward her and extending his own.
"I'm fine. I swear it," she asserted, keeping her hands tucked under her crossed arms. "It was far worse in the mountains near Annuvin last winter, and I survived that…"
"True, but as I'm sure you recall, you also had a thick fur coat at the time," Fflewddur reminded her. "Come—give me your hands. You won't be able to warm them yourself if you're already an icicle," he added with as much of a smile as he could muster through his own discomfort.
Telyn rolled her eyes a little but obliged, offering up her palms and letting the bard envelop them in his. A flicker of relief crossed her face at the newfound warmth, but it quickly disappeared into a troubled frown. They stood there a long while, thus—Gurgi leaning against Telyn, and Fflewddur cupping her hands in a shelter of their own—listening to the rain pummel the ground and drip from the stony ridges above them. The minutes dripped by far, far, far more slowly.
"Thank you," Telyn said at last, quietly. "I am better now, I think."
"Good," the bard replied with a smile, squeezing her hands once before he released them. "And with perfect timing, too: it looks as though the rain has finally wearied of tormenting us." He glanced back over his shoulder, where the downpour had slowed to a misty drizzle. "Onward we go! I only hope all of this water has washed away our bad luck."
Fortunately, the rains did not return over the next couple of days while the companions pushed deeper into the mountains; dry footing was more essential than ever on the new, steeper trail. As it was, the uneven terrain forced them to dismount and walk their horses yet again. Fflewddur led the way, followed by Gurgi, with Telyn bringing up the rear.
Then, without warning, there was a sickening clatter of loose rocks, a panicked whinny from Seiriol, and a pained outcry from Telyn. Fflewddur and Gurgi whirled around. She had crumpled to the ground, still clinging to her horse's reins. Just beside her, a sizeable chunk of trail had collapsed and gone crashing down into the ravine below.
"Great Belin, are you all right?" Fflewddur called out, attempting to turn Generys around on the narrow trail and make his way back to her.
Gurgi had already reached her side, his face scrunched with worry as he watched Telyn gingerly pull off her boot and inspect her ankle.
"What's wrong? What happened?" Fflewddur asked, rushing over.
"My ankle—it twisted badly when the rocks fell," she replied, grimacing. "It doesn't appear to be broken, but I'll need to wrap it. Don't worry—I shall be fine."
"Are you certain?" Fflewddur questioned. "That was quite a shout you gave…"
"Yes, yes—I will manage. Truly! Walking should help loosen it up. We did remember to pack bandages, I hope? I don't fancy tearing the bottom off of a perfectly good cloak on account of a pesky ankle."
Gurgi went and dug through the saddlebags and came up with a roll of linen, then scurried over to hand it to her. He and Fflewddur watched while she bound the injury carefully, wrapping the bandage several times around, up and down from calf to foot. At last, she pulled back on her boot and struggled up, waving away Fflewddur and Gurgi's attempts to help. Her companions looked on with concern as she took a few tentative steps forward, wincing. She was clearly in pain, however high she was holding her head.
"Come on, then—let's be on our way," Telyn urged, her voice tight. "We've been hindered by this mishap too long as it is."
She took up Seiriol's reins once more and began hobbling resolutely forward. Not without reservations, Fflewddur and Gurgi followed suit, setting off once more up the trail with Fflewddur in the lead. It was even slower going than before, between Telyn's injury and Gurgi's obvious worry that solid earth might give way beneath his own feet at any moment. Nevertheless, progress was progress, and they continued on without a halt for several hours, until the sun dipped well below the mountaintops.
Suddenly, Telyn let out a sharp gasp and stopped in her tracks. Gurgi and Fflewddur wheeled around to find her standing off-kilter with all of her weight on one foot. Her face was buried in her hands, and her back quaked with stifled sobs.
"Don's Blood!" she cursed, looking up and angrily wiping away her tears. "I am sick and tired of feeling so weak! And being so slow… And so cold! And… and everything looks blurred around the edges… And every scent is so dull, and every sound is muted… I hate it!" She sobbed once more as she took a frustrated swipe at the scraggly shrub unlucky enough to be growing next to where she stood.
Gurgi and the bard, who had rushed over to help, involuntarily held back a pace at Telyn's outburst, wary that she might lash out at one of them instead of the surrounding vegetation. They stood in silence for a moment, unsure whether to try consoling their distraught companion or leave her be.
"And I hate that all of that even bothers me," Telyn went on. "A little rain? Some cold wind? I ought to be stronger than that… I used to be stronger than that."
"Now, I would hardly call you weak, my friend," Fflewddur ventured. "Just think how you took down that ruffian, Ruawn! Why, I'd wager he was one and a half times your size! That was no small feat and not to be forgotten."
Gurgi loped over to her side and rested a paw comfortingly on her arm. "Don't cry, courageous and noble mountain cat maiden. It is not your fault that you became human again, any more than it is Gurgi's fault he is not human. Do not fret with whinings and pinings over what cannot be—there is so much to like about what is."
Telyn smiled weakly at the kind words but still looked rather despondent.
"And as for the dismal circumstances we've been confronted with of late," Fflewddur added, "well, we've all had a hard time of it. And as I recall, you scarcely complained about it until this very moment, even when your lips were turning blue and your fingers white with cold!"
"True, true!" Gurgi agreed. "There were groanings and moanings from freezing Gurgi, but not one from you. Not even when you were shivering and quivering!"
"Well, I've complained enough now to make up for it," Telyn muttered, her voice still bitter with self-reproach. "I feel… I just feel so… diminished." She looked dolefully at Fflewddur and Gurgi. "For so long after Morda transformed me, I wanted nothing more than to be human again… Now, I half wish I were still a mountain cat." There was a desperate quaver in her voice and her shoulders sagged.
"Ah, but who then would keep my tall tales in check?" the bard pointed out.
"Or help brush Gurgi's fur?" asked the shaggy creature. "Cats are good for clawing and pawing, but not for careful combing. No one else has helped Gurgi so patiently with that. See how clean his fur looks now!" he added brightly, ignoring the fact that his fur was currently more wet and bedraggled than finely groomed. "No more leafy litter and twiggy tangles!"
Telyn's tense expression softened a little.
"And should I ever find myself with a harp again," Fflewddur went on, "just think how much easier it will be for you to request exactly the songs you wish to hear."
"And dance to them, too!" Gurgi added. "With whirlings, and twirlings, and joyful jumpings!"
Telyn nodded, and eked out a wan smile. "I should like to dance again—I have missed that. Loping about on all fours was certainly interesting, but nowhere near the same."
"No, I'd imagine not," Fflewddur agreed. "Well, you shall have all of the music and dancing your heart could desire as soon as we reach Caer Fflam. There will be revelry for days! For a solid week, even! A Fflam never skimps on celebrations!" he declared cheerfully. "And we will be there before you know it," he added. "It is growing too dark to continue on tonight, so we'll set camp here and you can rest that ankle for a while. Tomorrow, you can lean on Gurgi and me by turns while the other leads the horses until we reach ground suitable for riding. It shouldn't be much farther now—just another day or two until we reach the Northern Realms. Great Belin, these mountains have given us a rough time, but they haven't bested us yet!"
