Sunrise

Chapter Eighteen: Sleepless

After another hearty meal, shared not only with Medwyn but with various four footed guests, the companions retired once more to the byre. Thanks to the afternoon's repose, Eilonwy was anything but sleepy. While Taran and Fflewddur settled into the straw, she stood in the doorway and gazed out at the night. Crickets chirped in the stillness, and the stars hung low and liquid, gazing at their reflections in the mirroring lake. The air was crisp and clear, with just enough bite to make her cross to their packs, retrieve a cloak, and wrap it around her shoulders.

When she returned she saw that Taran was also sleepless. Fflewddur, having been satisfied that the bear had departed for parts unknown, was already snoring quietly in the rear corner, but the boy was sitting up, his eyes wide open and troubled.

"You've been very glum all evening," she remarked, sitting opposite him. "You look like you're sitting in a briar. What's the matter?"

He chewed at his lower lip before answering. "Medwyn thinks Hen Wen might be dead."

"Can he know that for certain?"

Taran picked at a piece of straw, crumbling it into bits. "No. But he does think she'd come here first if she were in trouble. Since she's not here..." His head drooped.

"I'm sorry," Eilonwy sighed. "But...you aren't giving up, surely. Perhaps she was prevented from coming this far, and is hiding somewhere."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Which will make her even harder to find. And I can't go home without her, and I can't even think about looking until after we get to Caer Dathyl, if we ever do." His voice was thick, his face hidden by the fall of his long hair, and she thought he might be crying. "I just..."

He broke off, and sympathy for him welled in her breast and swelled until she thought she'd burst. It propelled her across the byre to him, where she crouched down with a hand on his arm.

"It's all right," she said gently. "You've done very well, you know. We've come far, we're all alive, and it was your idea got us here. I'd never have thought it of you when I first found you in that dungeon."

Taran made a sound somewhere between a snort and an ironic chuckle. "Thanks a lot."

She bit her lip in penance for a moment and went on. "That's not...what I mean is, it's quite a lot for an Assistant Pig Keeper to be doing. The most you've ever been called on to do, I expect. And if you're a bit overwhelmed, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

He was silent a moment, and then lifted his head, sniffing. He turned his face from her quickly, but not a liquid glimmer in his eye confirmed her suspicion. The welling sympathy turned into a twisting ache, so sharp that she nearly threw her arms round him, and was checked only by a strange shyness that made her drop her hand instead. She stared at it, lying in her lap, wondering why.

Taran cleared his throat. "I do thank you. Really. I know what you meant. And I know very well I couldn't have done any of it on my own." He sighed. "It makes me afraid. After we get to Caer Dathyl, that'll be one task done. But then I'll have another, with even less chance of success, and I'll have to do it alone."

"Whoever said that?" Eilonwy demanded. "I could come with you."

"Would you?" He whirled his head around, his face surprised and hopeful. "I thought you'd want to stay in Caer Dathyl."

Pleasant warmth bloomed in her face at his expression; it had been an impulse declaration, and she had not expected him to seize it so eagerly. "Well, I... I have been planning on staying," she stammered. "But there's no hurry, is there? It's not going anywhere. Besides," she added, "I daresay Fflewddur and Gurgi would come too if you asked them. If fact, if Hen Wen is as important as you say, perhaps the Sons of Don will send out search parties. They'll owe you a boon if we get there in time."