the dark store-room doorway, with Dog bounding in pursuit.
Regina dropped her skirt, scattering the precious barley far and wide, and let out a shriek. ‘Oh! He’ll catch it! He’ll catch it!’
‘No he won’t.’ Owain flung himself after the great hound. He had forgotten the two steps down, his feet flew from under him, and he plunged forward with a yell, landing with most of the breath knocked out of him, but his arms fast about the hound’s neck. Dog threshed around with his tail lashing wildly behind him; the carefully built up firewood scattered right and left and above them the panic-stricken tit dashed itself from wall to wall.
He heard Regina cry out as though the hurt was in herself: ‘Don’t! Oh don’t ! You’ll hurt your wings!’ She slipped without speed across to the far wall, where the tit, ceasing for a moment its frantic darting to and fro, clung with wings spread to the broken plaster, and reached up her hands to it quite slowly. Owain sat among the wreckage of the fire, his arms still round the excited hound, and watched her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
‘Come then, stupid,’ she said, and gathered the tiny creature as though it had been a flower, closing her hollowed hands over it, and turned towards the door. Then she hesitated, and in the sudden quiet after the turmoil, came across to Owain, and stooped over him. ‘Look!’ she said on a clear note of delight, and parted her fingers a little. The last gold of the sunset streaming in through the low doorway, showed him the tit, captive but quite contented inside the globe of her thin brown hands; the bright eyes in the tiny painted clown’s face, the jewel-blue cap of feathers. ‘Isn’t it blue !’ said Regina. Then she went to the doorway and up the steps, and standing on the top one among the spilled barley, opened her hands. The tit sprang upward, hung for a moment on vibrating wings that were like tiny fans of blue-green mist against the low sunlight, and darted off. She stood for a moment gazing after it. Then she turned back to the darkening room.
She saw Owain still sitting among the wreckage, with Dog clasped to his bosom; and flung herself down on the top step with her knees drawn up to her chin, and burst into shrill, hoarse, hooting laughter.
He began to laugh, too, though it was laughter that tore painfully at the misery within him, and for a little while they rocked together. Owain was the first to recover, and scrambling to his feet, took command of the situation. ‘This will not get us any supper. Scrape up as much of the barley as you can, and I’ll go and fetch the hare.’
It was dusk before the supper was cooking, for they had to remake the fire, and even when Owain had got a spark from his strike-a-light and managed to kindle it, they still had to skin the hare. But it was done at last, and the hare propped on its old sword-blade over the flames, while Dog worried the skin just as he had done last night. And Owain and Regina squatted beside the warmth, dipping turn and turn about in the yellow pool of very dusty grain in her lap and eating while they waited. Among the wood they had collected for the fire were some bits of a small olivewood chest that must have been brought from overseas long ago. The Saxons had burst it open in search of loot, and the little splintered planks were a good size for burning. (He must find something that he could break up bigger wood with, by and by.) It caught quickly when he fed the first bits to the fire, and burned with little oily flames that were blue as the top of the tit’s head. No, that was the wrong blue, Owain thought, more like the colour of wild hyacinths.
Regina, glancing up from the grains of barley in her palm, seemed to notice something on the front of his tunic that she had not seen before. Then she pointed: ‘What is that?’
And peering downward, Owain saw that his father’s ring was hanging in full view. It must have tumbled through the
Regina dropped her skirt, scattering the precious barley far and wide, and let out a shriek. ‘Oh! He’ll catch it! He’ll catch it!’
‘No he won’t.’ Owain flung himself after the great hound. He had forgotten the two steps down, his feet flew from under him, and he plunged forward with a yell, landing with most of the breath knocked out of him, but his arms fast about the hound’s neck. Dog threshed around with his tail lashing wildly behind him; the carefully built up firewood scattered right and left and above them the panic-stricken tit dashed itself from wall to wall.
He heard Regina cry out as though the hurt was in herself: ‘Don’t! Oh don’t ! You’ll hurt your wings!’ She slipped without speed across to the far wall, where the tit, ceasing for a moment its frantic darting to and fro, clung with wings spread to the broken plaster, and reached up her hands to it quite slowly. Owain sat among the wreckage of the fire, his arms still round the excited hound, and watched her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
‘Come then, stupid,’ she said, and gathered the tiny creature as though it had been a flower, closing her hollowed hands over it, and turned towards the door. Then she hesitated, and in the sudden quiet after the turmoil, came across to Owain, and stooped over him. ‘Look!’ she said on a clear note of delight, and parted her fingers a little. The last gold of the sunset streaming in through the low doorway, showed him the tit, captive but quite contented inside the globe of her thin brown hands; the bright eyes in the tiny painted clown’s face, the jewel-blue cap of feathers. ‘Isn’t it blue !’ said Regina. Then she went to the doorway and up the steps, and standing on the top one among the spilled barley, opened her hands. The tit sprang upward, hung for a moment on vibrating wings that were like tiny fans of blue-green mist against the low sunlight, and darted off. She stood for a moment gazing after it. Then she turned back to the darkening room.
She saw Owain still sitting among the wreckage, with Dog clasped to his bosom; and flung herself down on the top step with her knees drawn up to her chin, and burst into shrill, hoarse, hooting laughter.
He began to laugh, too, though it was laughter that tore painfully at the misery within him, and for a little while they rocked together. Owain was the first to recover, and scrambling to his feet, took command of the situation. ‘This will not get us any supper. Scrape up as much of the barley as you can, and I’ll go and fetch the hare.’
It was dusk before the supper was cooking, for they had to remake the fire, and even when Owain had got a spark from his strike-a-light and managed to kindle it, they still had to skin the hare. But it was done at last, and the hare propped on its old sword-blade over the flames, while Dog worried the skin just as he had done last night. And Owain and Regina squatted beside the warmth, dipping turn and turn about in the yellow pool of very dusty grain in her lap and eating while they waited. Among the wood they had collected for the fire were some bits of a small olivewood chest that must have been brought from overseas long ago. The Saxons had burst it open in search of loot, and the little splintered planks were a good size for burning. (He must find something that he could break up bigger wood with, by and by.) It caught quickly when he fed the first bits to the fire, and burned with little oily flames that were blue as the top of the tit’s head. No, that was the wrong blue, Owain thought, more like the colour of wild hyacinths.
Regina, glancing up from the grains of barley in her palm, seemed to notice something on the front of his tunic that she had not seen before. Then she pointed: ‘What is that?’
And peering downward, Owain saw that his father’s ring was hanging in full view. It must have tumbled through the
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