Saranna, when Carr had left her, sat down in the sunshine, near to the hedge that surrounded the garden and orchard, and began to brush out her wet hair.   She recalled the words of a sad old song of Esmil, and softly she began to sing;


Deep rushing sea,

Cold waters of my distant home,

Why did you spare me

Only for sorrow?

Deep rushing sea,

Cold waves upon the eternal sand,

Why did you take him

Who loved me true?

Deep rushing sea,

Cruel tides of bitter parting,

Why did you sunder us

Who breathed as one?’


As she stopped singing, all was still around her.  The heat   of   noon-tide   had stilled the breeze in the apple-boughs; Raðenn ’s bright voice had died away in the distance.   Saranna sighed heavily, and reached for the hairbrush she had dropped upon the grass.

‘Sweetheart, why so sorrowful?’

She gasped, and sprang to her feet.  A strange man was standing looking at her across the hedge, not five feet away.

‘Oh,’ she said.   ‘You startled me.  What are you doing there?   I shall call the servants, what right have you here?  Who are you?’

‘You need not fear me, pretty one.   Nor summon any protectors.   My name is Kor-Sen, and I will not harm you. ‘

Travelling 1


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