The Well at the World's End: A TaleMorris, William
Science
The Well at the World's End: A Tale
Morris, William
Fantasy fiction; Quests (Expeditions) -- Fiction
Now when it was hard on noon, and they had lain long in that grassy
place, Ralph rose up and stood upon his feet, and made as one
listening. But the Lady looked on him and said: "It is naught save a
hart and his hind running in the wood; yet mayhappen we were best on
the road, for it is yet long." "Yea," said Ralph, "and it may be that
my master will gather folk and pursue us." "Nay, nay," she said, "that
were to wrong him, to deem that he would gather folk to follow one man;
if he come, he will be by himself alone. When he found us gone he
doubtless cast himself on Silverfax, my horse, in trust of the beast
following after my feet."
"Well," said Ralph, "and if he come alone, there is yet a sword betwixt
him and thee."
She was standing up by him now with her hand on his shoulder, "Hear now
the darling, the champion! how he trusteth well in his heart and his
right hand. But nay, I have cared for thee well. Hearken, if thou
wilt not take it amiss that I tell thee all I do, good or evil. I said
a word in the ear of Silverfax or ever I departed, and now the good
beast knows my mind, and will lead the fierce lord a little astray, but
not too much, lest he follow us with his eager heart and be led by his
own keen woodcraft. Indeed, I left the horse behind to that end, else
hadst thou ridden the woodland ways with me, instead of my wearying
thee by our going afoot; and thou with thy weapons and wargear."
He looked upon her tenderly, and said smiling: "And thou, my dear, art
thou not a little wearied by what should weary a knight and one bred
afield?" "Nay," she said, "seest thou not how I walk lightly clad,
whereas I have left behind my mantle and cote-hardie?" Thereat she
gathered up her gown into her girdle ready for the way, and smiled as
she saw his eyes embrace the loveliness of her feet; and she spake as
she moved them daintily on the flowery grass: "Sooth to say, Knight, I
am no weakling dame, who cannot move her limbs save in the dance, or to
back the white palfrey and ride the meadows, goshawk on wrist; I am
both well-knit and light-foot as the Wood-wife and Goddess of yore
agone. Many a toil hath gone to that, whereof I may tell thee
presently; but now we were best on our way. Yet before we go, I will
at least tell thee this, that in my knowing of these woods, there is no
sorcery at all; for in the woods, though not in these woods, was I
bred; and here also I am at home, as I may say."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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