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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Roots of the Mountains; Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale"

Amidst that Vale was a doom-
ring of black stones, and nigh thereto a feast-hall well builded of
the like stones, over whose door was carven the image of a wolf with
red gaping jaws, and within it (for we entered into it) were stone
benches on the dais. Thence we came away, and thither again we went
in late autumn, and so dusk and cold it was at that season, that we
knew not what to call it save the valley of deep shade. But its real
name we never knew; for there was no man there to give us a name or
tell us any tale thereof; but all was waste there; the wimbrel
laughed across its water, the raven croaked from its crags, the eagle
screamed over it, and the voices of its waters never ceased; and thus
we left it. So the seasons passed, and we went thither no more: for
Fight-fain died, and without him wandering over the waste was irksome
to me; so never have I seen that valley again, or heard men tell
thereof.
'Now, neighbours, have I told you of a valley which seemeth to be
Shadowy Vale; and this is true and no made-up story.'
The Alderman nodded kindly to him, and then said to Face-of-god:
'Kinsman, is this word according with what thou knowest of Shadowy
Vale?'
'Yea, on all points,' said Face-of-god; 'he hath put before me a
picture of the valley.


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