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up. And if you ask me, the wisest thing for us is to leave immediately!”
    Taran nodded and rose to his feet. As he did, terrified whinnyings
and the sound of galloping hooves filled the air. “The horses!” he cried, racing to the door.
    Before he could reach it, the door burst from its hinges. Taran clutched at his sword and stumbled back into the hut as a huge shape leaped at him.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The Lair of Llyan
    T aran’s blade went spinning from his grasp and he threw himself to the ground to escape the onslaught. In a powerful spring, the creature passed over his head. The great beast screamed with fury as the companions scattered in terror to all parts of the hut.
    Amid the confusion of tumbling stools and benches, and as the dry leaves rose in a whirlwind, Taran saw that Fflewddur had jumped to a tabletop and, in so doing, had plunged into the spiderweb which now covered him from head to foot. Prince Rhun, having tried vainly to climb up the chimney, crouched in the ashes of the hearth. Gurgi had made himself as small as he could and had pressed into a corner, where he squealed and yelled, “Help, oh, help! Save Gurgi’s poor tender head from pawings and clawings!”
    â€œIt’s Llyan!” cried Taran.
    â€œYou can be sure it is!” Fflewddur shouted. “Now that I see her, I quite believe Glew was gobbled up and digested long ago.”
    A long, wavering growl rose from the creature’s throat and she hesitated a moment as if undecided where to attack. Taran, sitting up on the ground, saw for the first time what the ferocious animal looked like.

    Though Glew had written of Llyan’s growth, Taran had never imagined a mountain cat so big. The animal stood as tall as a horse but leaner and longer; her tail alone, thicker than Taran’s arm, seemed to take up much of the room in the hut. Heavily and sleekly furred, the cat’s body was golden-tawny, flecked with black and orange. Her belly was white with black splotches. Curling tufts sprouted from the tips of her ears, and shaggy handfuls of fur curved at her powerful jaws. Her long whiskers twitched; her baleful yellow eyes darted from one companion to another. Judging from the white points of her teeth, glittering as her lips drew back in a snarl, Taran was certain Llyan could gulp down anything that suited her fancy.
    The giant cat swung her great head toward Taran and moved lithely across the ground. As she did, Fflewddur unsheathed his sword; cobwebs and all, he jumped from the table, shouted at the top of his voice, and brandished the weapon. In an instant Llyan spun around. The lash of her tail sent Taran headlong once more; even before Fflewddur could strike, Llyan’s heavy paw flickered through the air. Its motion was too rapid for Taran’s eyes to follow; he saw only the astonished bard’s weapon fly up and clatter into the doorway, while Fflewddur himself went head over heels.
    With a snort and what seemed a shrug of her rippling shoulders, Llyan turned again to Taran. She crouched, thrust out her neck, and her whiskers trembled as she padded closer to him. Taran, not daring to move a muscle, held his breath. Llyan circled him, making snuffling noises. From the corner of his eye, Taran glimpsed the bard tying to climb to his feet, and warned Fflewddur to stay still.
    â€œShe’s more curious than angry,” Taran whispered. “Otherwise,
she would have clawed us to pieces by now. Don’t move. She may go away.
    â€œGlad to hear you say that,” replied Fflewddur in a choked voice. “I’ll remember it while I’m being gobbled up. It will be a consolation to me.”
    â€œI don’t think she’s hungry,” said Taran. “If she’s been out hunting during the night, she must have eaten her fill.”
    â€œSo much the worse for us,” said Fflewddur. “She’ll keep us here until her appetite comes back. I’m sure this is the