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 — John Shaqi
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
Science
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
While the song was a-singing Face-of-god took the Bride’s hand in his and
caressed it, and was soft and blithe with her; and she reddened and
trembled for pleasure, and called to mind wedding feasts that had been,
and fair brides that she had seen thereat, and she forgot her fears and
her heart was at peace again.
And Iron-face looked well-pleased on the two from time to time, and
smiled, but forbore words to them.
But up and down the hall men talked with one another about things long
ago betid: for their hearts were high and they desired deeds; but in that
fair Dale so happy were the years from day to day that there was but
little to tell of. So deepened the night and waned, and Gold-mane and
the Bride still talked sweetly together, and at whiles kindly to the
others; and by seeming he had clean forgotten the wood and its wonders.
Then at last the Alderman called for the cup of good-night, and men drank
thereof and went their ways to bed.
CHAPTER IV. FACE-OF-GOD FARETH TO THE WOOD AGAIN.
WHEN it was the earliest morning and dawn was but just beginning,
Face-of-god awoke and rose up from his bed, and came forth into the hall
naked in his shirt, and stood by the hearth, wherein the piled-up embers
were yet red, and looked about and could see nothing stirring in the
dimness: then he fetched water and washed the night-tide off him, and
clad himself in haste, and was even as he was yesterday, save that he
left his bow and quiver in their place and took instead a short
casting-spear; moreover he took a leathern scrip and went therewith to
the buttery, and set therein bread and flesh and a little gilded beaker;
and all this he did with but little noise; for he would not be
questioned, lest he should have to answer himself as well as others.
Thus he went quietly out of doors, for the door was but latched, since no
bolts or bars or locks were used in Burgstead, and through the town-gate,
which stood open, save when rumours of war were about. He turned his
face straight towards Wildlake’s Way, walking briskly, but at whiles
looking back over his shoulder toward the East to note what way was made
by the dawning, and how the sky lightened above the mountain passes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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