Taran was running, then, through a trackless marsh. A bear and two wolves set upon him and made to rend him with their fangs. Terrified, he sprang into a dark pool, but the water suddenly turned to dry land. The enraged beasts snarled and leaped after him.
He woke with a start, his heart pounding. The night had barely ended; the first streaks of dawn rose above the glade. Eilonwy stirred; Gurgi whimpered in his sleep. Taran bowed his head and put his face in his hands. The dream lay heavily upon him; he could still see the gaping jaws of a wolf and the sharp, white teeth. He shuddered. He knew he must decide now whether to return to Caer Cadarn or seek the Marshes of Morva.
Taran looked beside him at the sleeping figures of Gurgi and Eilonwy. In little more than a day, the companions had been scattered like leaves, and there remained only this pitifully small band, itself lost and driven. How could they hope to find the cauldron? Taran doubted they would even be able to save their own lives; yet the journey to Caer Cadarn would be as perilous as this quest, perhaps more so. Nevertheless, a choice had to be made.
He rose after a time and saddled the horses. Eilonwy was now awake and Gurgi was poking a tousled, twig-covered head from the folds of his cloak.
"Hurry," Taran ordered. "We'd better get an early start before the Huntsmen overtake us."
"They'll find us soon enough," Eilonwy said. "They're probably as thick as burdock between here and Caer Cadarn."
"We are going to the Marshes," Taran said, "not Caer Cadarn."
"What?" Eilonwy cried. "Are you still thinking about those wretched swamps? Do you seriously think we can find that cauldron, let alone haul it back from wherever it is?
"On the other hand," Eilonwy went on, before Taran could answer her, "I suppose it's the only thing we can do, now that you've got us in the stew. And there's no telling what Ellidyr has in mind. If you hadn't made him jealous over a silly horse…"
"I feel pity for Ellidyr," Taran answered. "Adaon once told me he saw a black beast on Ellidyr's shoulders. Now I understand a little what he meant."
"Well," remarked Eilonwy, "I'm surprised to hear you say that. But it was kindhearted of you to help Islimach; I'm really glad you did. I'm sure you meant well, and that's encouraging in itself. It does make a person think there might be some hope for you after all."
Taran did not reply, for he was still anxious and oppressed, although the disturbing dreams had already begun to fade. He swung astride Melynlas; Gurgi and Eilonwy shared Lluagor; and the companions swiftly rode from the glade.
It was Taran's intention to head southward, hoping somehow to come upon the Marshes of Morva within another day; although he admitted to himself that he had no more than a vague idea of their distance or exact location.
The day was bright and crisp. As Melynlas cantered over the frosty ground, Taran caught sight of a glittering, dew covered web on a hawthorn branch and of the spider busily repairing it. Taran was aware, strangely, of vast activities along the forest trail. Squirrels prepared their winter hoard; ants labored in their earthen castles. He could see them clearly, not so much with his eyes but in a way he had never known before.
The air itself bore special scents. There was a ripple, sharp and clear, like cold wine. Taran knew, without stopping to think, that a north wind had just begun to rise. Yet in the middle of this he noticed another scent mingled through. He turned Melynlas toward it.
"Since you're leading us," Eilonwy remarked, "I wonder if it would be too much to expect you to know where you're going."
"There is water nearby," Taran said. "We shall need to fill our flasks…" He hesitated, puzzled. "Yes, there is a stream," he murmured, "I'm sure of it. We must go there."
Nevertheless, he could not quite overcome his surprise when, after a short while, they indeed came upon a swift running brook winding its way through a stand of rowans. They rode to its bank. With a cry, Taran sharply reined in Melynlas. On a rock in the middle of the stream sat Fflewddur, cooling his bare feet in the water.
The bard leaped up and splashed across to greet the companions. Though haggard and worn, he appeared unwounded. "Now there's a stroke of luck, my finding you― your finding me, rather. I hate to admit it, but I'm lost. Completely. Got turned around somehow after Doli and I began leading the Huntsmen a chase. Tried to make my way back to you and got lost even more. How is Adaon? I'm glad you managed to…" The bard stopped. Taran's expression told him what had happened. Fflewddur shook his head sadly. "There are few like Adaon," he said. "We can ill afford the loss. Nor the loss of our good old Doli.
"I'm not sure what happened," Fflewddur went on. "All I know is that we were galloping at top speed. You should have seen him! He rode like a madman, popping invisible and back again, the Huntsmen racing after him. If it hadn't been for him, they'd have dragged me down for certain. They're stronger than ever, now. Then my horse fell. That is to say," the bard hastily added, as his harp strings tensed and jangled, "I fell off. Fortunately, by that time Doli had led them well away. At the rate he was going…" Fflewddur sighed heavily. "What has befallen him since then, I do not know."
The bard bound up his leggings. He had walked all the distance and was quite pleased to be riding once again. Gurgi mounted behind him on Lluagor. Taran and Eilonwy rode Melynlas. The bard's news lowered Taran's spirits further, for he realized now there was little chance of Doli rejoining them. Nevertheless, he continued to lead the companions southward.
Until he should recognize a landmark, Fflewddur agreed this was the only course. "The trouble is," he explained, "if we veer too far south, we'll simply end up in the sea and miss the Marshes altogether."
Taran himself could offer no suggestions. Downcast, he gave Melynlas rein and made little effort to guide the stallion. The trees thinned out behind him and the companions entered a wide, rolling meadow. Taran, half-dozing in the saddle, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders, roused himself uneasily. The meadow, with its high grass stretching all around them, was familiar. He had seen it before; where, he could not quite remember. He fingered Adaon's clasp at his throat. Suddenly, with fear and excitement, he understood. His hands trembled at the discovery. Taran glanced overhead. A gray bird circled, glided downward on outspread wings, then flew rapidly across the fields and disappeared from sight.
"That was a marsh bird," Taran said, quickly turning Melynlas. "If we follow this way," he added, pointing in the direction of the bird's flight, "I'm sure we'll come directly to Morva."
"Well done!" cried the bard. "I must say I never would have noticed it."
"That's at least one clever thing you've done today," Eilonwy admitted.
"This is not my doing," Taran said with a puzzled frown. "Adaon spoke the truth. His gift is a precious one." He told Eilonwy hurriedly about the clasp and the dreams of the night before.
"Don't you see?" he cried. "I dreamed about Fflewddur's harp― and we found Fflewddur himself. It wasn't all my own idea to go looking for a stream; it just came to me and I knew we would find it. Just now, when I saw the bird― that was in my dream. And there was another dream, a terrible one, of wolves…That's going to happen, too. I'm sure of it. Adaon's dreams were always true. He told me of them."
At first Eilonwy was loath to believe him. "Adaon was a wonderful man," she said. "You can't tell me it was all because of a piece of iron. I don't care how magical it is."
"I don't mean that," Taran said. "What I believe," he added thoughtfully, "is that Adaon understood these things anyway. Even with his clasp, there is much I do not understand. All I know is that I feel differently somehow. I can see things I never saw before― or smell or taste them. I can't say exactly what it is. It's strange, and awesome in a way. And very beautiful sometimes. There are things that I know…" Taran shook his head. "And I don't even know how I know them."