The Roots of the Mountains: Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, Their Friends, Their Neighbours, Their Foemen, and Their Fellows in ArmsMorris, William
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The Roots of the Mountains: Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, Their Friends, Their Neighbours, Their Foemen, and Their Fellows in Arms
Morris, William
Fantasy fiction
So they went their ways till she came to the strand of the water-meadow
brook aforesaid, and she went through the little ripples of the shallow
without staying, and on through the tall deep grass of the meadow beyond,
to where they met the brook again; for it swept round the meadow in a
wide curve, and turned back toward itself; so it was some half furlong
over from water to water.
She stood a while on the brink of the brook here, which was brim-full and
nigh running into the grass, because there was a dam just below the
place; and Folk-might drew nigher to her under cover of the thorn-bushes,
and looked at the place about her and beyond her. The meadow beyond
stream was very fair and flowery, but not right great; for it was bounded
by a grove of ancient chestnut trees, that went on and on toward the
southern cliffs of the Dale: in front of the chestnut wood stood a broken
row of black-thorn bushes, now growing green and losing their blossom,
and he could see betwixt them that there was a grassy bank running along,
as if there had once been a turf-wall and ditch round about the chestnut
trees. For indeed this was the old place of tryst between Gold-mane and
the Bride, whereof the tale hath told before.
The Bride stayed scarce longer than gave him time to note all this; but
he deemed that she was weeping, though he could not rightly see her face;
for her shoulders heaved, and she hung her face adown and put up her
hands to it. But now she went a little higher up the stream, where the
water was shallower, and waded the stream and went up over the meadow,
still weeping, as he deemed, and went between the black-thorn bushes, and
sat her down on the grassy bank with her back to the chestnut trees.
Folk-might was ashamed to have seen her weeping, and was half-minded to
turn him back again at once; but love constrained him, and he said to
himself, ‘Where shall I see her again privily if I pass by this time and
place?’ So he waited a little till he deemed she might have mastered the
passion of tears, and then came forth from his bush, and went down to the
water and crossed it, and went quietly over the meadow straight towards
her. But he was not half-way across, when she lifted up her face from
between her hands and beheld the man coming. She neither started nor
rose up; but straightened herself as she sat, and looked right into
Folk-might’s eyes as he drew near, though the tears were not dry on her
cheeks.
Now he stood before her, and said: ‘Hail to the Daughter of a mighty
House! Mayst thou live happy!’
She answered: ‘Hail to thee also, Guest of our Folk! Hast thou been
wandering about our meadows, and happened on me perchance?’
‘Nay,’ he said; ‘I saw thee come forth from the House of the Steer, and I
followed thee hither.’
She reddened a little, and knit her brow, and said:
‘Thou wilt have something to say to me?’
‘I have much to say to thee,’ he said; ‘yet it was sweet to me to behold
thee, even if I might not speak with thee.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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