case, we'll have a dry place to rest.”
The chamber, Taran saw, indeed seemed deserted, of inhabitants, at least, for the room was even more heaped up and disorderly than Dallben's. In one corner stood a wide loom with a good many of the threads straggling down. The work on the frame was less than half-finished and so tangled and knotted he could imagine no one ever continuing it.
Broken crockery covered a small table. Rusted and broken weapons were piled about.
“How would you like it,” asked a cheerful voice behind Taran, “if you were turned into a toad? And stepped on?”
Chapter 11
The Cottage
TARAN SPUN AROUND and raised his sword. Suddenly in his hand writhed a cold serpent, hissing and twisting to strike. With a cry of horror he flung it away. The serpent fell to the ground, and there, in its place, lay Taran's blade. Eilonwy stifled a scream. Taran drew back fearfully. Facing him was a short and rather plump little woman with a round, lumpy face and a pair of very sharp black eyes. Her hair hung like a clump of discolored marsh weeds, bound with vines and ornamented with bejeweled pins that seemed about to lose themselves in the hopeless tangle. She wore a dark, shapeless, ungirt robe covered with patches and stains. Her feet were bare and exceptionally large.
The companions drew closer together. Gurgi, trembling violently, crouched behind Taran. The bard, looking pale and uneasy, nevertheless prepared to stand his ground.
“Come along, my ducklings,” the enchantress said cheerily. “I promise it won't hurt a bit. You can bring your sword if you want,” she added with an indulgent smile at Taran, “though you won't need it. I've never seen a toad with a sword. On the other hand, I've never seen a sword with a toad, so you're welcome to do as you please.”
“We please to stay as we are,” cried Eilonwy. “Don't think we're going to let anybody...”
“Who are you?” Taran cried. “We have done you no harm. You have no cause to threaten us.”
“How many twigs in a bird's nest?” asked the enchantress suddenly. “Answer quickly. There, you see,” she added. “Poor chicks, you don't even know that. How could you be expected to know what you really want out of life?”
“One thing I want,” retorted Eilonwy, “is not to be a toad.”
“You're a pretty little duck,” said the enchantress in a kind, cajoling voice. "Would you give me your hair once you've done with it? I have such trouble with mine these days. Do you ever have the feeling things are disappearing into it and you might never see them again?
“No matter,” she went on. "You'll enjoy being toads, skipping about here and there, sitting on toadstools--- well, perhaps not that. Toads don't really sit on toadstools. But you might dance in dew circles. Now there's a charming thought.
“Don't be frightened,” she added, leaning over and whispering in Taran's ear. “You can't for a moment imagine I'd do all I said. Goodness no, I wouldn't dream of stepping on you. I couldn't stand the squashiness.”
With mounting terror, Taran cast desperately about in his mind for some means of saving his companions. He would have considered this disheveled creature's intention as mad and impossible had he not remembered the serpent in his hand, its menacing fangs and cold eyes.
“You mightn't like being toads at first,” the enchantress said reasonably. “It takes getting used to. But,” she added in a reassuring tone, “once it's happened, I'm certain you wouldn't want it any other way.”
“Why are you doing this?” Taran cried with all the more anger at feeling himself powerless. He turned his head in fear and revulsion as the enchantress gave him a kindly pat on the cheek.
“Can't have people poking and prying,” she said. “You understand that much, don't you? Make an exception for one, then it's two, three, and next thing you know, hundreds and hundreds trampling things and getting
The chamber, Taran saw, indeed seemed deserted, of inhabitants, at least, for the room was even more heaped up and disorderly than Dallben's. In one corner stood a wide loom with a good many of the threads straggling down. The work on the frame was less than half-finished and so tangled and knotted he could imagine no one ever continuing it.
Broken crockery covered a small table. Rusted and broken weapons were piled about.
“How would you like it,” asked a cheerful voice behind Taran, “if you were turned into a toad? And stepped on?”
Chapter 11
The Cottage
TARAN SPUN AROUND and raised his sword. Suddenly in his hand writhed a cold serpent, hissing and twisting to strike. With a cry of horror he flung it away. The serpent fell to the ground, and there, in its place, lay Taran's blade. Eilonwy stifled a scream. Taran drew back fearfully. Facing him was a short and rather plump little woman with a round, lumpy face and a pair of very sharp black eyes. Her hair hung like a clump of discolored marsh weeds, bound with vines and ornamented with bejeweled pins that seemed about to lose themselves in the hopeless tangle. She wore a dark, shapeless, ungirt robe covered with patches and stains. Her feet were bare and exceptionally large.
The companions drew closer together. Gurgi, trembling violently, crouched behind Taran. The bard, looking pale and uneasy, nevertheless prepared to stand his ground.
“Come along, my ducklings,” the enchantress said cheerily. “I promise it won't hurt a bit. You can bring your sword if you want,” she added with an indulgent smile at Taran, “though you won't need it. I've never seen a toad with a sword. On the other hand, I've never seen a sword with a toad, so you're welcome to do as you please.”
“We please to stay as we are,” cried Eilonwy. “Don't think we're going to let anybody...”
“Who are you?” Taran cried. “We have done you no harm. You have no cause to threaten us.”
“How many twigs in a bird's nest?” asked the enchantress suddenly. “Answer quickly. There, you see,” she added. “Poor chicks, you don't even know that. How could you be expected to know what you really want out of life?”
“One thing I want,” retorted Eilonwy, “is not to be a toad.”
“You're a pretty little duck,” said the enchantress in a kind, cajoling voice. "Would you give me your hair once you've done with it? I have such trouble with mine these days. Do you ever have the feeling things are disappearing into it and you might never see them again?
“No matter,” she went on. "You'll enjoy being toads, skipping about here and there, sitting on toadstools--- well, perhaps not that. Toads don't really sit on toadstools. But you might dance in dew circles. Now there's a charming thought.
“Don't be frightened,” she added, leaning over and whispering in Taran's ear. “You can't for a moment imagine I'd do all I said. Goodness no, I wouldn't dream of stepping on you. I couldn't stand the squashiness.”
With mounting terror, Taran cast desperately about in his mind for some means of saving his companions. He would have considered this disheveled creature's intention as mad and impossible had he not remembered the serpent in his hand, its menacing fangs and cold eyes.
“You mightn't like being toads at first,” the enchantress said reasonably. “It takes getting used to. But,” she added in a reassuring tone, “once it's happened, I'm certain you wouldn't want it any other way.”
“Why are you doing this?” Taran cried with all the more anger at feeling himself powerless. He turned his head in fear and revulsion as the enchantress gave him a kindly pat on the cheek.
“Can't have people poking and prying,” she said. “You understand that much, don't you? Make an exception for one, then it's two, three, and next thing you know, hundreds and hundreds trampling things and getting
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