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scythes, and pruning hooks, and found ways to make even the most unlikely objects serve a new
purpose. the store of weapons grew.
While each day Taran rallied followers in greater numbers, Coll, Gurgi, and Eilonwy helped load carts
with gear and provisions, a task by no means to the liking of the Princess, who was more eager to gallop
from one Commot to the next than she was to plod beside the heavy-laden wagons. Eilonwy had donned
man's garments and braided her hair about her head; at her belt hung a sword and short dagger wheedled
from Hevydd the Smith. Her warrior's garb was ill-fitting, but she took pride in it and was therefore all
the more vexed when Taran refused to let her go afield.
"You'll ride out with me," Taran said, "as soon as the pack animals are tended and their loads secured."
The Princess reluctantly agreed; but next day, when Taran cantered past the horse lines at the rear of the
camp, she furiously cried to him, "You've tricked me! These tasks will never be done! No sooner do I
finish with one string of horses and carts than along come some more. Very well, I shall do as t promised.
But war leader or no, Taran of Caer Dallben, I'm not speaking to you!"
Taran grinned and rode on.
Bearing northward through the Valley of Great Avren, the companions entered Commot Gwenith and
had scarcely dismounted when Taran heard a crackling voice call out, "Wanderer! I know you seek
warriors, not crones. But tarry a moment and give a greeting to one who has not forgotten you."
Dwyvach, the Weaver-Woman of Gwenith, stood in her cottage doorway. Despite her white hair and
wizened features she looked as lively and untired as ever. Her gray eyes scanned Taran sharply, then
turned to Eilonwy. The ancient Weaver-Woman beckoned to her. "Taran Wanderer I know well enough.
And who you may be I can guess well enough, even though you go in the guise of a man and your hair
could stand a little washing." She glanced shrewdly at the Princess. "Indeed, I was sure, when the
Wanderer and I first met, that he had a pretty maiden in his thoughts."
"Humph!" Eilonwy sniffed. "I'm not sure if he did then, and even less sure if he does now."
Dwyvach chuckled. "If you are not, then no one else can be. Time will tell which of us is right. But
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meanwhile, child," she added, unfolding a cloak she held in her withered hands and setting it about
Eilonwy's shoulders, "take this as a gift from a crone to a maiden, and know there is not so much
difference between the two. For even a tottering granddam keeps a portion of girlish heart, and the
youngest maiden a thread of old woman's wisdom."
Taran had now come to the cottage door. He warmly greeted the Weaver-Woman and admired the
cloak she had given Eilonwy. "Hevydd and the Commot smiths labor to make arms for us," he said. "But
warriors need warmth as much as weapons. Alas, we have no garments like this."
"Do you think a weaver-woman less hardy than a metalsmith?" Dwyvach replied. "As you wove
patiently at my loom, now my loom will weave the more quickly for you. And in every Commot, shuttles
will fly for the sake of Taran Wanderer."
Heartened by the Weaver-Woman's promise, the companions departed from Gwenith. A short
dis-tance from the Commot, Taran caught sight of a small band of horsemen riding toward him at a quick
pace. Leading them was a tall youth who shouted Taran's name and raised a hand in greeting.
With a glad cry Taran urged Melynlas to meet the riders. "Llassar!" Taran called, reining up beside the
young man. "I did not think you and I would meet so far from your sheepfold in Commot Isav."
"Your news travels ahead of you, Wanderer," Llassar replied. "But I feared you would deem our
Commot too small and pass it by. It was I," he added, with shy hesitation that could not altogether
conceal his boyish pride,"it was l who led our folk to find you."
"The size of Isav is no measure of its courage," Taran said, "and I need and welcome all of you. But
where is your father?" he asked, glancing at the band of riders. "Where is Drudwas? He would not let his
son journey so far without him."
Llassar's face fell. "The winter took him from us. I grieve for him, but honor his memory by doing what
he himself would have done."
"And what of your mother?" Taran asked, as he and Llassar trotted back to join the companions. "Was
it her wish, too, that you leave home and flock?"
"Others will tend my flock," the young shepherd answered. "My mother knows what a child must do and
what a man must do. I am a man," he added stoutly, "and have been one since you and I stood against
Dorath and his ruffians that night in the sheepfold."
"Yes, yes!" cried Gurgi. "And fearless Gurgi stood against them, too!"
"I'm sure all of you did," Eilonwy remarked sourly, "while I was curtsying and having my hair washed on
Mona. I don't know who Dorath is, but if I should ever meet him, I promise you I'll make up for lost
time."
Taran shook his head. "Count yourself lucky you don't know him. I know him all too well, to may
sorrow."
"He has not troubled us since that night," said Llassar. "Nor will he likely trouble us again. I have heard
he has left the Commot lands and roves westward. He has put his sword in the service of the
Death-Lord, it is said. Perhaps it may be so. But if Dorath serves anyone, it is himself."
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