Taran Wanderer

As Fflewddur led the mounts and Gurgi happily bore the lamb in his arms, Taran walked close by the herdsman who, after his first reluctance, was willing now to lean on Taran's shoulder as the path steepened and twisted upward before dropping into a deep vale among the hills.

The farmstead Taran saw to be a tumbledown cottage, whose walls of stone, delved from the surrounding fields, had partly fallen away. Half-a-dozen ill-shorn sheep grazed over the sparse pasture. A rusted plow, a broken-handled mattock, and a scant number of other implements lay in an open-fronted shed. In the midst of the high summits, hemmed in closely by thorny brush and scrub, the farm stood lorn and desolate, yet clung doggedly to its patch of bare ground like a surviving warrior flinging his last, lone defiance against a pressing ring of enemies.

Craddoc, with a gesture almost of shyness and embarrassment, beckoned the companions to enter. Within, the cottage showed scarcely more cheer than the harsh land around it. There were signs Craddoc had sought to repair his fireplace and broken hearthstone, to mend his roof and chink up the crannies in the wall, but Taran saw the herdsman's labor had gone unfinished. In a corner a spinning wheel betokened a woman's tasks; but if this were so, her hand had ceased to guide it long since.

"Well, friend herdsman," Fflewddur remarked heartily, seating himself on a wooden bench by a narrow trestle table, "you're a bold man to dwell in these forsaken parts. Snug it is," he quickly added, "very snug but― ah, well― rather out of the way."

"It is mine," Craddoc answered, and his eyes flashed with pride. Fflewddur's words seemed to stir him, and he bent forward, one hand gripping his crutch and the other clenched upon the table. "I have stood against those who would have taken it from me; and if I must, so shall I do again."

"Why, indeed I've no doubt of that," replied Fflewddur. "No offense, friend, but I might say I'm a little surprised anyone would fancy taking it from you in the first place."

Craddoc did not answer for a time. Then he said, "The land was fairer than you see it now. Here we lived among ourselves, untroubled and at peace, until certain lords strove to claim our holdings for themselves. But those of us who prized our freedom banded together against them. Hotly fought was the battle and much was destroyed. Yet we turned them back." Craddoc's face was grim. "At high cost to us. Our dead were many, and my closest friends among them. And I," he glanced at his crutch, "I gained this."

"What of the others?" Taran asked.

"In time, one by one, they quit their homes," Craddoc replied. "The land was no longer worth the keeping or the taking. They made their way to other cantrevs. In despair they took service as warriors or swallowed their pride and hopes and labored for any who would give them bed and board."

"Yet you stayed," Taran said. "In a ruined land? Why so?"

Craddoc lifted his head. "To be free," he answered curtly. "To be my own man. Freedom was what I sought. I had found it here, and I had won it.

"You are luckier than I, friend herdsman," Taran answered. "I have not yet found what I seek."

When Craddoc glanced inquiringly at him, Taran told of his quest. The herdsman listened intently, saying no word. But as Taran spoke, a strange expression came upon Craddoc's face, as though the herdsman strove against disbelief and sought to reach out beyond his own wonder.

When Taran finished, Craddoc seemed about to speak. But he hesitated, then set the crutch under his arm, and rose abruptly, murmuring that he must see to his sheep. As he hobbled out, Gurgi trotted after him to gaze with pleasure at the gentle animals.

The day had grown shadowed. Taran and Fflewddur sat quietly at the table. "I pity the herdsman as much as I admire him," Taran said. "He fought to win one battle only to lose another. His own land is his worst foe now, and little can he do against it."

"I'm afraid you're right," agreed the bard. "If the weeds and brambles press him any closer," he wryly added, "he must soon graze his sheep on the turf of his rooftop."

"I would help him if I could," Taran replied. "Alas, he needs more than I can give."

When the herdsman came back Taran made ready to take his leave. Craddoc, however, urged the companions to stay. Taran hesitated. Though anxious to be gone, he well knew that Fflewddur disliked traveling at night; as for the herdsman, his eyes more than his words bespoke his eagerness, and at last Taran agreed.

Craddoc's provisions being scant, the companions shared out the food from Gurgi's wallet. The herdsman ate silently. When he had done, he cast a few dry, thorny branches on the small fire, watched them flare and crackle, then turned his gaze on Taran.