Cart and Cwidder Read Free Page B

lion’s mane, only rather more untidy, and his eyes were a pale blue-green. But his eyebrows were thick and black, and his skin very brown. His nose put them in mind of an eagle. He still had that fed-up look, which they decided must be due to more than the heat.
    â€œPerhaps his grandfather’s dying, and they sent for him, and he doesn’t want to go,” Brid speculated. Moril was content to leave it vague. He simply hoped the passenger would not vent his annoyance on them.
    A mile or so farther on Clennen said: “We haven’t got your name, lad. There’s a lot in a name, I always think. What is it?”
    â€œIt’s Kialan,” said the passenger. “With a K .”
    â€œEven with a K , it’s not half long enough for me,” said Clennen.
    â€œWell, what do you expect me to say? It’s really my name!” the passenger protested.
    â€œI like longer names,” Clennen explained. “Clennen’s too short for me, too. Lenina—my wife’s name—is too short. But my children all have good spreading names, because I could choose them myself. The lad driving is Dastgandlen Handagner, my daughter is Cennoreth Manaliabrid, and the one with the red hair is Osfameron Tanamoril.”
    Moril ground his teeth and waited for the passenger to laugh. But, in fact, he looked rather awed. “Oh,” he said. “Er, do you call them all that when you want to speak to them?”
    â€œAnd the lazy-wise horse is Barangarolob,” Clennen added, perfectly seriously, as if he were simply anxious for Kialan to know. Dagner gave a little whinny of laughter, which might have come from Olob. Kialan looked piteous.
    â€œTake no notice,” said Lenina. “They’re Dagner, Brid, and Moril for short. And the horse is Olob.”
    Kialan looked relieved. He gave another gusty sigh or so and took off his coat. He must have been hot in it, because it was a thick coat, of good cloth. Brid whispered that it must be his best one, but Moril had lost interest in Kialan by then and did not care. Kialan folded the coat—not as carefully as such a good garment deserved—and used it as a pillow while he pretended to go to sleep. Brid knew he was only pretending, because he started up every time any travelers passed them and looked through the opening of the cover to see who they were.
    There was not much traffic on the road. Mostly it was slow wagons, which Olob trotted past without any difficulty, sending spurts of white grit from beneath the cartwheels, until Moril, trotting in the rear, seemed to have hair the same color as Clennen’s. But there were a few horsemen, and these overtook Olob as easily as Olob overtook the wagons. Once, quite a group of riders came past, raising a whirl of white dust, and were scanned by Kialan with great interest. One of the group seemed equally interested in them. He craned round in his saddle as he passed to get a good look at the cart.
    â€œWho was that fellow?” Clennen said to Lenina.
    â€œI couldn’t say,” she answered.
    â€œFunny,” said Clennen, “I seem to have seen him before.” But since the man was a perfectly neutral-looking person, neither dark nor fair and neither young nor old, Clennen could not place him and gave up the attempt.
    Shortly after that, as the sun was getting low, Olob left the road of his own accord and jolted the cart among gorse bushes into a heathy meadow. He stopped near a stream.
    â€œOlob thinks this’ll do,” Dagner said to Clennen. “Will it?”
    â€œYou don’t really let your horse choose where to stop!” Kialan exclaimed.
    â€œHe doesn’t often let us down,” said Clennen, surveying the meadow. “Yes, very nice. Horses have a gift for stopping, Kialan. Remember that.”
    The fed-up look settled on Kialan’s face, and he watched, a little scornfully, while Dagner unharnessed Olob and led him off to drink. He