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more than her wounds, a fever has weakened her. She has gone long without food or drink."
"Her shoes are in ribbons," Eilonwy said. "How far must she have wandered in this awful place? Poor
Achren! I can't say I'm fond of her, but it makes my toes curl up just imagining what could have
happened."
Fflewddur, after helping move the unconscious Queen to more level ground, had stayed a few paces
away. Gurgi, too, chose to keep some distance between Achren and himself. Nevertheless, at Taran's
bidding they drew closer and the bard, with many soothing words, held Llyan steady while the other
companions lifted Achren to the great cat's back.
"Hurry along," called the voice of Doli. "It's starting to snow."
White flakes had begun drifting from the heavy sky; within little time a biting wind swirled around the
companions and snow drove against them in an ever-thickening cloud. Needles of ice stung their faces, it
grew more and more difficult to see, and as the storm gained in fury even Doli could no longer be sure of
the path. The companions staggered blindly in a file, each clutching the other, with Taran gripping an end
of Doli's staff. Kaw, almost entirely covered with snow, hunched up his wings and tried desperately to
keep his perch on Taran's shoulder. Llyan, burdened with the motionless Queen, bent her great head
against the gale and plodded onward; but the sure-footed cat often stumbled over hidden boulders and
snow-filled pits. Once Gurgi yelled in terror and vanished as suddenly as if the earth had swallowed him.
He had tumbled into a deep crevice and by the time the companions were able to haul him out, the
hapless creature had nearly turned into a shaggy icicle. He trembled so violently he could scarcely walk,
and between them, Taran and Fflewddur bore him along.
The wind did not slacken, the snow fell in an impenetrable curtain; and the cold, already bitter, grew
even more intense. Breathing was painful and with each labored gasp Taran felt the frigid draft like
daggers in his lungs. Eilonwy half-sobbed with cold and exhaustion, and she clung to Taran, striving to
keep her footing as Doli led them through drifts that now had risen more than knee-high.
"We can't go on," the dwarf shouted above the wind. "Find shelter. Make our way to the horsemen
when the snow lets up."
"But the warriors, how shall they fare?" Taran replied anxiously.
"Better than we!" the dwarf cried. "Where they are, there's a good-sized cave I noticed along the cliff
wall. Your young shepherd is bound to find it, never fear. Our trouble is finding something for ourselves."
However, even after long and painful searching, the dwarf discovered nothing more than a shallow gully
below an overhanging ledge. The companions stumbled gratefully into it; here they were protected against
the worst battering of the wind and snow. But the cold still gripped them, and no sooner had they halted
than their bodies seemed to stiffen and they moved arms and legs only with the greatest difficulty. They
clung together for warmth and pressed against Llyan's thick coat of fur. Even this gave them little comfort
for, as night fell, the chill deepened. Taran stripped off his cloak and covered Eilonwy and Achren; Gurgi
insisted on adding his sheepskin jacket and he crouched with his shaggy arms wrapped around himself,
his teeth chattering loudly.
"I fear that Achren will not live the night," Taran murmured to Fflewddur. "She was too close to death
when we found her. She will not have strength to stand such cold."
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"Will any of us?" answered the bard. "With-out a fire, we might just as well say farewell to each other
right now."
"I don't know what you're complaining about," Eilonwy sighed. "I've never been so comfortable in all my
life."
Taran looked at her in alarm. The girl did not stir under the cloak. Her eyes were half-shut, her voice
faltered with drowsiness.
"Quite warm," she rambled on happily "What a lovely goosefeather quilt I have. How odd. I dreamed
we were all caught in a terrible storm. It wasn't pleasant at all. Or am I still dreaming? No matter. When I
wake up, it will all be gone away."
Taran, his face drawn with anxiety, shook her roughly. "Don't sleep!" he cried. "If you sleep it will be
your death."
Eilonwy did not answer him, but only turned' her head away and closed her eyes. Gurgi had curled up
beside her and could not be roused. Taran himself felt a fatal drowsiness spreading over him. "Fire," he
said, "we must build a fire."
"From what?" Doli brusquely replied. "There's not a twig to be found in this wilderness. What will you
burn? Our boots? Our cloaks? We'll freeze all the faster." He flickered back into sight. "And if I'm going
to freeze, I won't do it with hornets buzzing in my ears."
Fflewddur, who had been silent this while, reached behind him and unslung his harp. At this, Doli gave a
furious shout.
"Harp music!" he cried. "My friend, your wits are frozen solid as ice!"
"It shall give us the tune we need," replied Fflewddur.
Taran dragged himself to the side of the bard. "Fflewddur, what do you mean to do?"
The bard did not answer. For a long moment he held the harp lovingly in his hands and gently touched
the strings, then with a quick motion raised the beautiful instrument and smashed it across his knee.
Taran cried out in anguish as the wood shattered into splinters and the harp strings tore loose with a
discordant burst of sound. Fflewddur let the broken fragments drop from his hands.
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