09/03/2026 11:23

---

She did not know what time of year it might be, but there were patches of unmelted snow on the edge of the Lake, hiding in the reeds. She never knew how long she stood there, clutching at the hazel bark, her brow pressed painfully against the bole of the tree . r steps had brought them, not to the Well, but to the little chapel where the ancient Christian brotherhood held their services. Be it so, said Niniane, and for a moment it was so silent in the room that Morgaine could hear the splash of a fish in the Lake beyond the borders of the little house.

At one point, teased beyond endurance by her whispered touches, the soft brushing of her hair against his face when she bent over him Her eyes blurred-she had laid her hand on a weeping skull, and it seemed her own hand was the thin, winter-blighted hand of the Death-crone. Let him try. It was Gwydion's own choice.