The Brega path

CHAPTER 9

Two weeks passed, and Perry's wound steadily healed. The black shaft had driven through muscle, all vital parts having been missed, and the barb had not been poisoned. Both Warrows' spirits, however, were greatly injured, for four out of every five of the Host had fallen, and nearly all of their comrades had perished. Cotton was often seen searching, looking for some sign of Bomar and the cook-waggon crew; but he found them not, for they had been slain in combat and were buried under tons of stone in the ruined War Hall; and he wept for them and for Rand and for all the others lost. And Perry, too, spent long days in anguish, remembering Delk and gruff Barak, and huge Ursor, and the ironfist brothers, Anval and Bonn. And the Warrows thought upon all the times that were, and they grieved for all the times that might have been but now would never be. Of their close companions, only Durek, Shannon, and Kian remained, and a desolate mood haunted them as well as each of those of the Host who had survived: King Durek looked upon his won Kingdom, but felt only grief. Lord Kian stood for long moments and stared without seeing into the dark corners of Kraggen-cor. Often someone-anyone-would be seen with his face buried in his hands. All were stunned by the overwhelming losses of their victory. And their heartgrief filled them.

On the seventh day after the battle, word came from the Dusk-Door of Brytta's safety and that of the Vanadurin; yet this good news caused no celebration, only quiet relief. Even the arrival on the tenth day of a force of Dylvana Elves from Darda Galion stirred little excitement. How the Elves had become aware of the victory, none knew-or would say although Cotton did overhear an Elf Captain speaking to Silverleaf, asserting, "We came at your summons, Alor Vanidar." But the buccan did not see how Shannon could have sent a message, and thus dismissed it from his mind.

At last Perry came to King Durek and said, "I can stand this sorrow no longer. My physical wound is well enough to travel"-and the Warrow flexed his fingers and turned his hand over and again, and then stiffly he eased his arm from the sling and set the cloth aside-"but my very being is sorely injured. I must go to a place of quiet and solitude, a place far removed from the reflections of War and evil memories, a place where pleasures are simple and time goes slowly. King Durek, I am reluming home to the Bosky, for The Root calls me with an irresistible voice, and I must answer, and rest, and be drawn forth from this bleak place where my heart and spirit have been driven."

And Durek saw that the Warrow was indeed injured far beyond what the eye could see. "Come with me," Durek rasped, and they strode forth from the Great Chamber, where the remnants of the Host were now quartered. Out through the north entrance they went, and up within the mountain. High they climbed, and higher still, mounting up stair upon stair delved within the stone of Stormhelm, passing through Rise after Rise; many times they rested, yet still they ascended, and the stair was ancient, but lightly trod. Once more they rested and then pressed on, and finally they entered a carven hall. But the Dwarf held his lantern high and led the Warrow into a dark, twisting crack with shoots branching off in many directions.

At last they came to a small but massy bronze door, and the rune-iaden surface flung brazen glints back unto the eye. The Dwarf King took hold of the handle-a great ring of brass-and muttered strange words under his breath; and then he turned his wrist, twisting the ring post, and pushed the door outward.

Bright light streamed in through the open portal, and blue sky could be seen beyond. The Dwarf King crossed over the bronze doorsill and bade Perry to follow. And blinking his watering eyes in the brilliance, his hand shading his sight, the Warrow stepped through into the light.

And Perry found he was upon a windswept ledge on a towering vertical face of stone on the outer flanks of RaVenor-of Stormhelm. High up he was, yet still the mountain reared above him, rising toward the snow-laden crest. A low parapet was before him, and there King Durek stood, leaning forward upon both hands and looking down into the land. But Perry shrank back from such a view, for the drop was sheer and awesome. Yet Durek turned and held out his hand, and in spite of his fright, Perry stepped forward and look it; and strength seemed to flow from Dwarf to Warrow, and never again was Perry to fear heights.

It was a rare day upon Ravenor, for no storm hammered its peak. The cold thin air was crystalline, and the endless sky was calm, and a few serene clouds drifted past. To the north and south the great backbone of the Grimwall marched off into the distance. The other three peaks of the Quadran- Aggarath and Uchan, south and southeast, and Ghatan, east- shouldered up nearby. The clear-eyed Warrow could see far and away: to Darda Galion and beyond; to the Great Argon River; even unto the eaves of Darda Erynian. Perry's vision swept outward, over the southwest borders of Riamon and into the North Reach of Valon, where perhaps horses thundered across the plains. And it seemed to Perry as if the very rim of Mithgar itself might be seen from here.

And Durek directed the Warrow's eyes down onto the Pitch, and like tiny specks, a work crew of Dwarven Folk could be seen fetching water from the Quadmere. And Durek and Perry looked deeper down into the Quadran, and there in a great fold of stone on Ghatan's flank stood the Vorvor, a whirling churning gurge deeply entwined in Dwarven legend: There a secret river burst forth from the underearth to rage around a great stone basin and plunge down into the dark again; and a great gaping whirlpool raved endlessly and sucked at the sky and funneled deep into the black depths below. Dwarves tell that when the world was young and First.Durek trod its margins, he came unto this place. And vile tlkhs, shouting in glee, captured him and from a high stone ledge they flung him into the spin, and the sucking maw drew him down. According to the legend, none else had e'er survived that fate; yet First Durek did, though how, it is not said. To the very edge of the Realm of Death, and perhaps beyond, he was taken, yet Life at last found him on a rocky shore within a vast, undelved, undermountain realm; and First Durek strode where none else had gone before-treading through that Kingdom which was to become Kraggen-cor. How he came again unto the light of day, it is not told; yet it said that Daun Gate stands upon the very spot where he walked out through the mountainside; but how he crossed the Great Deop remains an enigma, though some believe that he was aided by the Utruni-the Stone Giants. And the enmity with Squam began here too, more deadly than the ravening whirl of the rearing Vorvor.

Yet none of this legend did Perry and Durek speak upon at length, for the violence of the Vorvor was remote down within the Quadran; and the distant whirling waters seemed to twist around in silence, for only a winking glitter of the far-off wheeling funnel reached up into the lofty aerie.

Durek glanced at the sky, gauging where stood the Sun. "Here, Friend Perry," the Dwarf King counseled, "sit here." And he led the Warrow to an unworked quartzen outcrop, in part naturally shaped much the same as the bench of a massive throne. "Look east to the peak of Ghatan, just there where the high cleft and grey crag meet. And wait, for the time is nearly upon us."

And so they waited in silence, Perry's gaze locked upon the place Durek had directed. Slowly the Sun came unto the zenith, and lo! a circlet of light bejewelled with five stars sprang forth from deep within the crags. Perry looked in wonder at the Dwarf King and saw that the studded circlet and stars on Seventh Durek's armor were arrayed in the same number and fashion as those reflected from the spire of Ghatan.

"You see before you the Chakkacyth Ryng-the Dwar-venkith Ring," declared the Dwarf, "spangled with a star for each Line of the Chakka Kindred. Ever has the Ryng lived in our legends. Ever has it signified the unity of our Folk. And I came to Kraggen-cor to claim the Ryng for myself and my kith. But alas!! did not know the terrible cost that such a sigil would bear.

"I now feel that I will be the last King of Durek's Folk, and that after me we shall be no more. Oh, we shall not die, nor leave Mitheor; but instead, I deem we must come together with others of our Race to merge our blood with theirs, and the pure line of Durek will vanish. For if we do not meet and merge with others of our kind, Durek's Folk will fall into weakness and futility; our losses were staggering, and alone, we who were the mightiest cannot recover.

"Already Chakkadom is spread thinly, and our numbers gradually dwindle, for we are slow to bear young. I think that this War has sounded the death knell of the separate Chakka Kindred, and to survive, the Five Kith must become but one. Accordingly, I have sent out the word of our… victory- hot only to Mineholt North, where my trothmate Rith and the families of my warriors even now prepare to join us, but also to the other Chak Kindred both near and distant, asking any who would come to do so.

"I brought you here, Friend Perry, to show you that Ryng, to show you that symbol of our dream: five stars upon a perfect circle. But I also wished to show you the cost of that dream-for as it can be with each great dream, sometimes the cost to the dreamer is staggering.

"All dreams fetch with a silver call, and to some the belling of that treasured voice is irresistible. And in many quests, the silver turns to dross, while in others, it remains precious; but in the harsh crucibles of some quests, the silver Is transformed into ruthless metal. Such was the case with bom of our dreams, Waeran, yours and mine: we answered to the lure of a silver call, but found instead cruel iron at quest's end. Yet what is done is done, and we cannot call it back, we cannot flee into yesterday.

"That does not mean that it is wrong to dream, nor does it mean that one should not reach for a dream. But it does mean mat all dreams exact a price: sometimes trivial, sometimes more than can be borne.

"Some dreams are small: a garden patch, a rosebush, the Grafting of a simple thing. Some dreams are grand: a great journey, a dangerous feat, the winning of a Kingdom. And die greater the dream, the greater the reward-yet the greater can be the cost. One cannot reach for a dream and remain unchanged, and that change is part of the cost of the dream. But when events go awry and disaster strikes, each of us who dreams must not let his spirit be crushed by the outcome.

"A person can be safe and never reach for his dream, never risk failure, never expose his spirit to the dangers inherent, but then he will never reap the rewards of a dream realized, and he might never truly live.

"Friend Perry, you reached for your dream, you grasped it, and held on to the very end. You found that the cost was high-higher than any of us had anticipated. And now you would go and rest and be at peace, and I believe you should. But do not hide away and brood, and fester, and become small in spirit; instead, rest, and reflect, and grow."

Durek then fell silent. And as the Sun passed beyond the zenith, Perry and the Dwarven King sat upon the Mountain Throne, and together they watched the Ring fade from sight- and as the glitter dimmed, the grasping bitterness gently fell away from the Warrow's heart, though the deep sadness remained. After a while, they stood and walked in silence back into Kraggen-cor, closing the bronze door behind.

The next morning. Cotton and Perry prepared to leave. They would head back through Kraggen-cor to Dusk-Door, and Silverleaf would go with them: Shannon was to be their guide through Lianion to the place called Luren. And as the Warrows prepared, so did Lord Kian; in the company of the Elves of Darda Erynian he would go east to the Rissanin River and then northeasterly to Dael, returning to Riamon and his Kingdom.

At last all was ready. Perry and Cotton, Shannon and Kian, all stood with Durek in the Great Chamber of the Sixth Rise. None knew what to say, for it was a sad moment. The Man looked to the center of the hall, to a white stone tomb-a tomb upon which lay an unadorned blackhandled sword of Riamon-a tomb wherein Prince Rand had been laid to rest in honor. And tears sprang into Kian's eyes. Durek followed the young Lord's gaze and said, "Your brother died in glory and is the only Man ever to be so honored by the Chikka."

Tears coursed down the cheeks of the Warrows, and Kian turned to them and pledged, "I shall come to the Boskydells after a time, and we'll have a pipe and speak of better things. Look for me in the spring, summer, or fall, not the next but perhaps the ones after; but do not look for me in the winter, for it will be bleak and stir up too many painful memories. I will come when the grief has faded to but an old sadness." He embraced the Waerlinga and clasped the forearm of Shannon and Durek, and without another word, — turned and walked swiftly away through the lantern light, striding toward the Dawn-Gate, where awaited his escort of Elves.

"Fare you well," called Cotton after him, but Perry could say nought.

Then Perry and Cotton in turn took the hand of Durek and said goodbye. And Durek gave Cotton a smalt bag of silver pennies to see to their expenses on the way home, and a small silver cask, locked with a key, that they were not to open until they had returned to The Root-and what was inside was for the both of them. He returned to Perry the silveron armor; and the quarrel hole had been repaired by Durek himself, the arrow-shattered amber gem now replaced by a red jewel, and all the gems were now reinforced behind by starsilver links. And Durek bade him to put the armor on. Perry donned the mail but vowed, "I have had enough of fighting and War, and though I wear this armor, I will fight no more.

The Warrows and Shannon turned and began trudging west across the floor, along the Brega Path. Durek watched them go, and before they entered the west corridor he called out after them, "Perhaps I, too, will come to your Land of the Bosky."

And only silence followed.

The trio spent that night in the Grate Room, and the next morning they went on. When they came to the Bottom Chamber, Perry did not look at the cleft in the wall where Ursor had gone, but instead he hurried past with his eyes downcast to the stone floor. They came to the eight-foot-wide Fissure and found that the Dwarves had constructed a wooden bridge over it to carry the supplies across, and the Warrows were relieved mat they didn't have to leap above the dreadful depths of the Drawing Dark. Onward they went until they came to the stairs leading down to Dusk-Door, and at the bottom they found the gates standing wide and two Dwarves guarding the portal.

"This is where the Dark Mere was," said Cotton, pointing at the black crater, "and all that rock down there is what used to cover the Door." Perry looked at the tons of debris strewn

over the ancient courtyard, and wondered how the Dwarven Army had ever managed to move all that mass.

In silence they passed the cairns along the Great Loom, and only the sound of the free-flowing Duskrill intruded upon their thoughts. As they came to the vale. Cotton called Perry's attention to the Sentinel Falls, now a silver cascade, falling asplash upon a great mound of rock. "There stood the dam that was broken, and down under that heap of stone is the dead Monster." Perry looked on and shuddered.

That night they talked with members of the Dwarf Company at Dusk-Door and with two Valonian riders, messengers. They were told that most of the waggons now stood empty, the supplies having been taken into Kraggen-cor. Messages had been borne by rider south to Valon and Pellar and the Red Hills, and Dwarven kindred would be coming north to bring more supplies and to gather the wain horses from the Vanadurin and to take the surplus waggons and teams south. And some Dwarves would be coming north to remain in Drimmen-deeve.

Durek had sent word to the Company of the Dusken Door mat Cotton, Perry, and Shannon would be coming, and a waggon with a team had been prepared with the provisions needed for the trip to Luren and to the Bosky dells beyond.

The trio ate a short meal and then retired for the night.

The next morning, waving goodbye to the Dusk-Door Company, the trio in the wain started west down the Spur, Cotton at the reins. They emerged along the foothills and turned south, following the Old Rell Way toward me River Hath. The Old Way wended toward Gunar, and slowly the waggon rolled along its overgrown, abandoned bed. Shannon spoke of the days when there was trade between the Realms of Drimmen-deeve and Lianion-called Rell by Men-and the city of Old Luren, now destroyed. The roadbed they followed would lead to the new settlement on the site of those ancient ruins.

In late morning they crested a ridge and looked down into a wide grassy valley, where they saw a great herd of a thousand horses grazing beside a glittering stream in the winter pasture. Soon they came to the camp of the Harlmgar, and there they were hailed by raven-helmed Brytta. And the riders were pleased to look once more upon the Waldfolc, and they

treated the Elf with the utmost respect. And the three travellers took a meal with the Vanadurin; and Brytta ate with his left hand while he loosed an occasional oath at the awkwardness caused by his tender bandaged right. And in his oath-saying, he was joined by his bloodkith, Brath, whose left arm was broken, and by Gannon with the shattered fingers, who was fed by both of them, much to his disgust and their amusement.

They spoke on the War, and talked of the final battle, and then Cotton asked the Valanreach Marshal to tell his tale.

Brytta told them of the desperate ride to Quadran Pass in pursuit of the foul Rutchen spies, and the ambush and battle with the ravagers. Brytta's voice dropped low when he spoke of the Drokh who may have escaped, for the Marshal yet held himself at fault in this, even though it was now clear that whether or not the Drokh had reached the High Gate to warn Gnar, it had had no bearing on the outcome. Brytta then spoke of the long dash back to the Ragad Valley, summoned by Farlon's recall beacon, only to find the vale empty of the Dwarf Army, the Host having entered the Black Hole. And he told of bringing the wounded and the herd south, and of setting the guard atop the Sentinel Stand to signal should the Wrg flee the Dwarves' axes out through the Dusk-Door: "But the Spawn never came…" His tale done, his voice dwindled to silence.

"Just so!" groused Wylf in the lull, his countenance chap-fallen. "The Wrg never came… not while I was near. For during the battle of Stormhelm Defile, I was stuck atop Redguard Mount. And they came not the next night when I sat ambush on the road to Quadran Col. Nor did they flee out of the Door while I warded atop the Sentinel Stand. They never came to me, or to Farlon. We alone of all the brethren did not get to share in the great vermin-slaughter. Yet I suppose we served as well by watching for the enemy-though he never stood before us-and by tending the wounded and the herd. Even so, it seems that fortune could have thrown at least one or two Wrg our way."

"It was not ill fortune that kept the Spawn from you," declared Perry. "Rather, it was to your good, for War is bitter luck indeed." And the small Warrow fell silent and said no more, and Brytta looked at him with surprised eyes.

The Sun was bright and the air still, and in the grassy vale a gentle warmth o'erspread the land. All was quiet. But then the startling sound of sharp fife and tapping timbrel floated through the calm, and Perry saw nearby a loose circle of Brytta's Men sitting upon the earth. And from this circle came the pipe and tap. One by one the Men joined in the music, their hands clapping time to the air. Soon all there were sounding the beat, and some gave over their long-knives to comrades, who added the iron tocsin of blade on blade to the rhythm. Quickly the tune became more barbaric, wild fife and drum and steel on steel and strong hands clapping. And as Perry watched, a young warrior sprang to circle center and whirled 'round the fire, his feet stamping the earth, joining the savage beat. He spun and gyred and leapt high, and fierce shouts burst forth from his companions as the wild dancer whirled and tumbled and cartwheeled over the flames.

Perry's heart was tugged two ways, and he turned to Brytta: "How can they be so festive?" he asked, and his silent thoughts went on to add, when so many have perished.

Brytta's gaze strayed far away to a coppice of silver birch at the distant high eastern reach of the grassy vale. A great curving stone upjut on the mountain flanks cupped the grove, sheltering the clean-limbed trees from harsh mountain winds. Beyond Brytta's sight, but nevertheless seen by him, there, too, were five fresh mounds in the sward; five barrow mounds where five warriors slept the eternal sleep 'neath green turves: Art, Dalen, Haddor, Lumen, and Raech, forever standing guard o'er the sheltered glen. And this dale became known in later years as the Valley of the Five Riders. It was said that weary, riderless horses often made their way to this place, to rest and heal and become strong again, to eat of the green grass and drink of the crystalline water springing forth from the stone bluff and flowing out and down through the peaceful land. And it was also said that at times in the dim twilight shadows or misty early dawn, die faint sound of distant oxen horns hovered on the edge of hearing.

Brytta's eyes rested momentarily upon the far wooded dell, and his sight misted over, and then he answered Perry: "It is not a gay dance, not a happy tune my scouts tap to. No, not festive; they are not festive. Yet in time 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.

Yo ho! Yo ho! Let's throw the snow, From bright fort walls sling white snowballs. Yo ho! Yo ho! Here comes a hat. Let fly the snow, knock it kersplat!

Let fly the snow, knock it: Kersplat!

And both Warrows found themselves laughing in glee.

They rode all through the daylight hours and came to Byroad Lane at dark. By then the snow was nearly a foot deep, and their ponies chuffed with the effort. Still the flakes swirled down thickly, but there was only a slight breeze, and neither Warrow was uncomfortable.

The ponies plodded through Budgens and past the Blue Bull. Yellow light shone out through the inn windows and across the white snow. Singing came from within; and as the two rode by, someone stepped through the door, and the song burst forth loudly, only to be muffled again when the door swung shut.

The Warrows rode on, and finally crossed the bridge over the Dingle-rill and passed beyond the mill. Their ponies plodded up into Hollow End, and they came at last to the curved hedge along the snow-covered stone walkway to The Root.

They had dismounted and were tethering the ponies to the hedge fence when the oaken door burst open, and out flew Holly. She hugged them both and kissed Perry. And Perry held her tightly and tears coursed down his cheeks, but he said nothing. And she held him close for a moment, and then drew them bodi inside. And there they found waiting a rich meal of roast goose and three places set at the table, for as Holly explained through her tears of happiness, "It's Year's End Eve, and I've been expecting you all day."