Taran Wanderer (16 page)

“Llonio said life was a net for luck; to Hevydd the Smith life was a forge; and to Dwyvach
the Weaver-Woman a loom. They spoke truly, for it is all of these. But you,” Taran said,
his eyes meeting the potter's, “you have shown me life is one thing more. It is clay to be
shaped, as raw clay on a potter's wheel.”

Annlaw nodded. “And you, Wanderer, how will you shape your clay?”

“I cannot stay in Merin,” Taran replied, “much as I love it. Caer Dallben waits for me, as
it has always waited. My life is there, and gladly I return to it, for I have been too
long away.”

They sat silently then: Taran, Gurgi, and Annlaw Clay-Shaper. As dawn lightened, Taran
clasped the potter's hand and bade him farewell.

“Good journey to you, Wanderer,” called Annlaw, as Taran swung astride Melynlas. “Do not
forget us, for we shall not forget you.”

“I have the sword I fashioned,” Taran proudly cried, “the cloak I wove, and the bowl I
shaped. And the friendship of those in the fairest land of Prydain. No man can find
greater treasure.”

Melynlas pawed the ground, impatient, and Taran gave the stallion rein.

Thus Taran rode from Merin with Gurgi at his side.

And as he did, it seemed he could hear voices calling to him. “Remember us! Remember us!”
He turned once; but Merin was far behind and out of sight. From the hills a wind had
risen, driving the scattered leaves before it, bearing homeward to Caer Dallben. Taran
followed it.