The path gently rose onto the crest of the long, serpentine hill, and upon it at the very top of the rill stood a doorway in stone, two rude rises capped by a lintel, and all from the uttermost black stone. Beyond lay a valley floor, where the drumlin rolled down unto the plain, all indistinct with mist.
As the traveler approached, a grey-haired woman appeared from behind the left stone of the doorway, and waited patiently as he toiled up the path.....
He crossed the gate into the land of the Hesperides. The mist leapt away, and the valley rang forth with beauty. He felt an overwhelming fatigue, and a sense of success.
"You are upon our lands. Do no magic."
A small branch of the path veered abruptly to the left, Down a bit, and off a few hundred paces, lay a small wooden hut, capped with thatch, with a wide doorway of oak, and beamed also with a great wooden lintel pierced with logs, almost appearing American in its build; but very ancient, not a design, but a solid and primeval air.
She spoke again. "This is the Hopital des Bois, the Travelers' Rest. Enter as a respectful guest, please." Thy strode across the open doorway, and came into a small room awash with yellows and browns of the live woods, a faint greenish, endlessly moving light as in the forest. There were two wrought wooden chairs that almost cried out to be touched; so they sat.
There was a great and slightly untidy pile of wood along the leftmost wall of the cabin, as though for firewood. An enchanting door of wood lie opposite the bare doorway of the entrance. He studied the pile, and saw in it wood that was of many forms and colors; great logs and rotten stumps; finished wood and plank, loose bark and sea driftwood, stream flotsam and leafed branch. A small bird entered with a twig, and lay it atop the pile, and flew away, as though it were a great nest.
With a start, he saw wizarding wands scattered throughout; some shattered, some hale. "Whose wands are those?" he asked with great alarm, reaching under his vest for his own wand.
"Shhh!" she scolded. "This is a sickroom. Have respect." She frowned like an irritated librarian. "Do no magic upon our land. It can only bring you harm. Bring forth thy wand, but give no command!"
"Why?"
"That thy wand might hear, and see." He brought it forth, and it shined and twinkled under the light of the invisible canopy.
"When hast thy wand looked so? When it was new-made?"
He had to admit, it had never looked so fresh, and what's more, it felt alive. It called to his hand, like a faithful hound calling to master.
"What say that twig to you?" as it strained against his hand, docile but insistent, like a well-trained hunter. _may I go master?_ he heard in his mind's hand, and he doubted, clenched for a minute, and then relaxed his grip. The wand flew onto the pile, and he heard a silent cheer and applause, followed by many voices; all in the silence to the human ear.
"Your wand will stay as an honored guest here during your visit to the House Hesperides. Now shall we talk."
"Why the silence and hurry to this house?" He asked.
"The suffering called forth too loudly for us to speak." She answered. "Relief and refreshment must come before all else. This is the obligation of the host.
As the traveler approached, a grey-haired woman appeared from behind the left stone of the doorway, and waited patiently as he toiled up the path.....
He crossed the gate into the land of the Hesperides. The mist leapt away, and the valley rang forth with beauty. He felt an overwhelming fatigue, and a sense of success.
"You are upon our lands. Do no magic."
A small branch of the path veered abruptly to the left, Down a bit, and off a few hundred paces, lay a small wooden hut, capped with thatch, with a wide doorway of oak, and beamed also with a great wooden lintel pierced with logs, almost appearing American in its build; but very ancient, not a design, but a solid and primeval air.
She spoke again. "This is the Hopital des Bois, the Travelers' Rest. Enter as a respectful guest, please." Thy strode across the open doorway, and came into a small room awash with yellows and browns of the live woods, a faint greenish, endlessly moving light as in the forest. There were two wrought wooden chairs that almost cried out to be touched; so they sat.
There was a great and slightly untidy pile of wood along the leftmost wall of the cabin, as though for firewood. An enchanting door of wood lie opposite the bare doorway of the entrance. He studied the pile, and saw in it wood that was of many forms and colors; great logs and rotten stumps; finished wood and plank, loose bark and sea driftwood, stream flotsam and leafed branch. A small bird entered with a twig, and lay it atop the pile, and flew away, as though it were a great nest.
With a start, he saw wizarding wands scattered throughout; some shattered, some hale. "Whose wands are those?" he asked with great alarm, reaching under his vest for his own wand.
"Shhh!" she scolded. "This is a sickroom. Have respect." She frowned like an irritated librarian. "Do no magic upon our land. It can only bring you harm. Bring forth thy wand, but give no command!"
"Why?"
"That thy wand might hear, and see." He brought it forth, and it shined and twinkled under the light of the invisible canopy.
"When hast thy wand looked so? When it was new-made?"
He had to admit, it had never looked so fresh, and what's more, it felt alive. It called to his hand, like a faithful hound calling to master.
"What say that twig to you?" as it strained against his hand, docile but insistent, like a well-trained hunter. _may I go master?_ he heard in his mind's hand, and he doubted, clenched for a minute, and then relaxed his grip. The wand flew onto the pile, and he heard a silent cheer and applause, followed by many voices; all in the silence to the human ear.
"Your wand will stay as an honored guest here during your visit to the House Hesperides. Now shall we talk."
"Why the silence and hurry to this house?" He asked.
"The suffering called forth too loudly for us to speak." She answered. "Relief and refreshment must come before all else. This is the obligation of the host.
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