|
选择字色： 选择背景色：
回书目 
“Lass, look, the least I can do for you is give you my horse. Please
accept!” The Knight Marshal had a pleading look in his eyes.
“Fine,” Gwen said, mainly to be rid of him. The Knight Marshal’s nag
was old and worn, and his bones jutted out from his tight, stretched
brown skin. The saddle was patched in many places, and the reins were no
more than pieces of rope knotted and tied together.
“His name’s Fireflake,” the Knight Marshal said.
“Fireflake. That’s a nice name,” Gwen managed to say, trying to climb
onto the saddle.
“Here, I’ll give you a hand,” the Knight Marshal said, chuckling.
“Thanks,” Gwen said. The Knight Marshal lifted Gwen onto the
saddle with a grunt.
The Realm of Possibilities
39
“Well, good-bye, then,” the Knight Marshal said awkwardly. Gwen
tugged on the reins, and Fireflake slowly plodded forward.
By sunset, Gwen had covered ten miles and was resting, making a
small fire out of some sticks and dry grass. Fireflake slowly chewed the
grass, looking around impassively. Gwen sorely regretted that she hadn’t
thought to bring some food. Oh well, she thought, there’s no use moping about
it. Looking up, Gwen noticed an old, bent woman wearing a black habit
walking towards her.
“My daughter,” the woman croaked, “I am Mother Giovanna. I do
not believe it safe for you to wander these wild lands alone. Permit me to
accompany you to the Convent of Zeda, where you will be given food and
rest?” Gwen readily agreed. Food and rest sounded perfect!
At the Convent of Zeda, Gwen was immediately given into the care
of Sister Irene, who bustled about, exclaiming things like “poor wee little
lassie” and “what a tiring journey ye must o’ had.” Gwen washed herself,
redressed, and went downstairs to eat with the rest of the nuns.
“O traveler, we think it right and proper to say this to the Noble Sun
God:
“O Sun God, so great and noble, lay your blessing on this bread we
eat;
“O Sun God, so just and merciful, lay your blessing on the wine we
drink;
“O Sun God, so magnificent and majestic, protect us Sisters of the
Convent of Zeda, and we shall take the oath of poverty and promise to
give aid to women, orphans, and old people,” Mother Giovanna said. The
Sisters, along with Gwen, recited the prayer, and then everyone was given
a slice of the hard, stale bread and the cheese. The wine was poured into
the crudely made wooden glasses and handed out to everyone.
After dinner, Gwen was shown to a comfortable and yet small room
on the West Wing of the Convent, where she undressed and flopped
down onto the plain bed. All of the candles were blown out at exactly
eleven o’clock, so Gwen slept in the candlelight for some time.
The next morning, after dressing and eating breakfast with the nuns,
climbed back into the saddle.
“May the noble Sun protect you, young wanderer!” Mother Giovanna
called as Gwen rode away.
Gwen had reached the meadows that lay between Bronsel and the
Elea Mountains by sunset. She tied Fireflake to a tree, patted his back, and
left him to chew the grass. A few farmers greeted her and went back to
cutting wheat with their long, sharp scythes. One farmer stopped
THE JOY OF WRITING
40
working, put down his scythe, and said to Gwen, “And what is your
name?”
“I am Gwen.”
“Be welcome to my humble abode,” the farmer said, and, taking off
his hat, he said, “I am Torgish.”
“Where do you live?” Gwen asked, glancing around. There seemed to
be no houses.
回书目 
