Chapter 162

Spring had got to Ellisar a fortnight before it got to us.

We came in through the grey trees on the fourth evening, and the trees were not grey any more. Every branch had put out a haze of new leaf so fine that the light came through it green, and the water in the stone channels beside the paths was loud with snowmelt from the hills. Up in the great trunks the round windows were lit gold, as before. Somebody high up was singing the song with a great many verses.

People stopped on the paths, as before. This time they did not only look. An old woman by the second channel put her hand flat on her breast and bowed her head, and the man beside her did the same, and then the children, copying them, without knowing why. Rowan, riding at my elbow on Pudding, said out of the side of his mouth, “You’ll get used to it,” and then, “No. You won’t,” and was quiet the rest of the way.

My father rode a little ahead, and did not turn around to see how I took it. I was grateful. I d