The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain) by Lloyd Alexander Page B

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 underfoot. Believe me, this is best for everybody.”
    From around the side of the hill, at that moment, two more figures appeared. Both closely resembled the stout little woman, except that one wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up, nearly concealing her face; and at the throat of the other hung a necklace of milky white stones.
    The enchantress ran to them and called out happily, “Orwen! Orgoch! Hurry! We’re going to make toads!”
    Taran gasped. He shot a quick glance at the bard and Eilonwy. “Did you hear those names?” he whispered hurriedly. “We’ve found them!”
    The bard’s face was filled with alarm. “Much good it may do us,” he said. “By the time they’re through, I don’t think we’re going to care about the cauldron or anything else. I’ve never danced in a dew circle,” he continued under his breath. “In different circumstances I might enjoy it. But not now,” he added with a shudder.
    “I’ve never met a person,” whispered Eilonwy, while Gurgi snuffled in fright, “who could talk about such dreadful things and smile at the same time. It’s like ants walking up and down