his command. All of us—in a vast sudden relief at having someone to obey, after our weeks of being chivvied by frightened peeple with sticks, after our days of wandering in the wilderness—all of us lowered our haunches and hoisted our heads and forelegs, to stand giant, to show our true height.
The peeple cleared around us like dust from a sharp blow of breath. Pippit commanded again, and I spoke back as he told me, as did my sisters and our mother our queen. The peeple ran farther away. We spoke with our entire hearts and our full bulk, and every arch and column shook with the noise.
Pippit’s voice singled out Booroondoon. The rest of us stood giant, proclaiming our hugeness, trumpeting our obedience and our love.
Their eyes were all in a row
, says Booroondoon now,
like children peeping over our garden wall, the men’s who held him. The blade-man, he saw me coming; he knew what Pippitwas commanding. It happened all so fast—he lifted his sword—he leaped, he was upon Pippit!—and what could I do?
Nothing but what you did
, we reassure her—although, when we saw her fling that blue-black rag out among the peeple, we knew it was a terrible thing she had been driven to.
And then I could just push the others away. Them I did not injure, those ones, did I? They stepped back quietly; they had no swords, you see, and they had seen what I did to the first—so in hurting one I saved at least two—
Also, you had him—
‘I have him!’ she rumbled to us, and Pippit called us in his bird-voice, even as she swung him onto her head. We moved towards our accustomed order. But seeing Pippit so small and unprotected at our head, and knowing the peeple wished him dead, I pushed forward to precede Booroondoon, as I would have for no other reason, and others came up to shelter him from peeple who might leap up from the sides. Out of the square we went, while the peeple foamed and cried and parted to let us through, and fell back farther as we left the paved part of the town, as we left the housed part, until there were only a few wide-eyed rubbish-pickers’ tinies by the road to watch us pass, with our prize on our head, our live, sweet Pippit, chattering and laughing and greeting us by our bird-names over and over.
W HICH IS HOW WE COME TO BE HERE , on this long walk away from all we know. Since we left the road and the landbegan undulating, ‘Our Pippit may be leading us to the Forest Hills of legend,’ Hloorobn says eagerly.
Booroondoon in her sadder moments says, ‘He may indeed be leading us into death, for I have never been this way before.’
‘And you have been near everywhere there is to be, our queen,’ says Gooroloom, ‘from the log-camp mountains, to the ports, to the road-making settlements all up and down.’
Says Booroondoon, ‘Yet I know nothing of this place, not its rocks or its creatures, nor how Pippit chooses the way among ten hundred sandhills all the same.’
‘Who knows? Who minds?’ says Hloorobn happily.
‘None of us, that’s sure,’ says Gooroloom.
And none of us does. For each evening our sweet Pippit brings us to water and good browsing, and each morning we wake to a spray of his hot little voice, to the blessing of his kisses and his touch as he walks among us. And he lifts us without spike and leads us without wrath. Singing, always singing, he moves us onward, into each brightening day.
house of the many
D OT WAS VERY YOUNG . He was in the Bard’s house, asking about things, watching his manners.
‘This?’ said the Bard, taking it down from his shelf. ‘This is the House of the Three, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Bard Jo.’ Dot sat himself to listen.
The Bard sat, too, placing the worn brown box on the mat between them.
‘Can you tell me the names of the Three, boy?’
‘Anneh, Robbreh and Viljastramaratan.’
The Bard nodded, and Dot glowed inside. ‘Anneh, she’s the one who wears the pants. She chops all the wood, she hoes the fields, picks
The peeple cleared around us like dust from a sharp blow of breath. Pippit commanded again, and I spoke back as he told me, as did my sisters and our mother our queen. The peeple ran farther away. We spoke with our entire hearts and our full bulk, and every arch and column shook with the noise.
Pippit’s voice singled out Booroondoon. The rest of us stood giant, proclaiming our hugeness, trumpeting our obedience and our love.
Their eyes were all in a row
, says Booroondoon now,
like children peeping over our garden wall, the men’s who held him. The blade-man, he saw me coming; he knew what Pippitwas commanding. It happened all so fast—he lifted his sword—he leaped, he was upon Pippit!—and what could I do?
Nothing but what you did
, we reassure her—although, when we saw her fling that blue-black rag out among the peeple, we knew it was a terrible thing she had been driven to.
And then I could just push the others away. Them I did not injure, those ones, did I? They stepped back quietly; they had no swords, you see, and they had seen what I did to the first—so in hurting one I saved at least two—
Also, you had him—
‘I have him!’ she rumbled to us, and Pippit called us in his bird-voice, even as she swung him onto her head. We moved towards our accustomed order. But seeing Pippit so small and unprotected at our head, and knowing the peeple wished him dead, I pushed forward to precede Booroondoon, as I would have for no other reason, and others came up to shelter him from peeple who might leap up from the sides. Out of the square we went, while the peeple foamed and cried and parted to let us through, and fell back farther as we left the paved part of the town, as we left the housed part, until there were only a few wide-eyed rubbish-pickers’ tinies by the road to watch us pass, with our prize on our head, our live, sweet Pippit, chattering and laughing and greeting us by our bird-names over and over.
W HICH IS HOW WE COME TO BE HERE , on this long walk away from all we know. Since we left the road and the landbegan undulating, ‘Our Pippit may be leading us to the Forest Hills of legend,’ Hloorobn says eagerly.
Booroondoon in her sadder moments says, ‘He may indeed be leading us into death, for I have never been this way before.’
‘And you have been near everywhere there is to be, our queen,’ says Gooroloom, ‘from the log-camp mountains, to the ports, to the road-making settlements all up and down.’
Says Booroondoon, ‘Yet I know nothing of this place, not its rocks or its creatures, nor how Pippit chooses the way among ten hundred sandhills all the same.’
‘Who knows? Who minds?’ says Hloorobn happily.
‘None of us, that’s sure,’ says Gooroloom.
And none of us does. For each evening our sweet Pippit brings us to water and good browsing, and each morning we wake to a spray of his hot little voice, to the blessing of his kisses and his touch as he walks among us. And he lifts us without spike and leads us without wrath. Singing, always singing, he moves us onward, into each brightening day.
house of the many
D OT WAS VERY YOUNG . He was in the Bard’s house, asking about things, watching his manners.
‘This?’ said the Bard, taking it down from his shelf. ‘This is the House of the Three, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Bard Jo.’ Dot sat himself to listen.
The Bard sat, too, placing the worn brown box on the mat between them.
‘Can you tell me the names of the Three, boy?’
‘Anneh, Robbreh and Viljastramaratan.’
The Bard nodded, and Dot glowed inside. ‘Anneh, she’s the one who wears the pants. She chops all the wood, she hoes the fields, picks
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