Anavalt thus passed the King of the Kittle cattle, and the tale tells how Anavalt journeyed deeper into the Wood of Elfhame. No trumpets sounded before him as they sounded when the Anavalt who was a great lord went about the world where people have souls: and the wonders which Anavalt saw to this side and to that side did not disturb him, nor he them. He came to a house of rough-hewn timber, where a black man, clothed in a goat-skin, barked like a dog and made old gestures. This, as Anavalt knew, was the Rago: within the house sat cross-legged, at that very moment, the Forest-Mother, whose living is innocent of every normal vice, and whose food is the red she-goat and men. Yet upon the farther side of the home of perversity was to be seen a rusty nail in the pathway, and bits of broken glass, prosaic relics which seemed to show that men had passed this place. So Anavalt made no reply to the obscene enticements of the Rago. Anavalt went sturdily on, to a tree which in the stead of leaves was overgrown with human hands: these hands had no longer any warmth in them as they caught at and tentatively figured Anavalt, and presently released him. Now the path descended, among undergrowth that bore small purple flowers with five petals. Anavalt came here upon wolves which went along with him a little way. Running they could not be seen, but as each wolf leaped in his running his gray body would show momentarily among the green bushes that instantly swallowed it: and these wolves cried hoarsely, "Janicot is dead!" But for none of these things did Anavalt care any longer, and none of the peculiarities of Elfhame stayed him, until his path had led further downward, and the roadway had become dark and moist. Here were sentinels with draggled yellow plumes, a pair of sentinels at whom Anavalt looked only once: then with averted head he passed them, in what could not seem a merry place to Anavalt, for in the world where people have souls he was used to mirth and soft ease and to all such delights as men clutch desperately in the shadow of death's clutching hand. In this place Anavalt found also a naked boy. § 42 In this place Anavalt found, as the tale tells, a naked boy whose body was horrible with leprosy: this malady had eaten away his fingers, so that they could retain nothing, but his face was not much changed. The leper stood knee-deep in a pile of ashes: and he demanded what Anavalt was called nowadays. When courteous Anavalt had answered, the leper said then: "You are not rightly called Anavalt. But my name is still Owner-of-the-World." Says Anavalt, very sadly, "Even though you bar my way, ruined boy, I must go forward to the windmill of the Elle Maid." "And for what reason must you be creeping to this last woman? For she will be the last,--as I forewarn you, tired man, who still pretend to be Anavalt,--she will be the last of all, and of how many!" Anavalt answered: