Free Taran Wanderer by Lloyd Alexander Page A

subjects are always impatient for my return...”
    The harp shuddered violently as a string snapped in two. Fflewddur's face reddened.
     “Ahem,” he said, “yes, what I meant was: I'll be anxious to see
    
    
     them
    
    
     again. The truth of it is, I often have the feeling they manage quite well even when I'm
     not there. Still, a Fflam is dutiful!”
    The companions halted while Fflewddur slid from Llyan's back and squatted on the turf to
     repair his broken string. From his jacket the bard took the large key which he used to
     tighten the harp's wooden pegs, and began patiently retuning the instrument.
    A raucous cry made Taran glance quickly skyward. “It's Kaw!” he exclaimed, pointing to the
     winged shape plummeting swiftly toward the companions. Gurgi shouted joyfully and clapped
     his hands as the crow alighted on Taran's wrist.
    “So you've found us, old friend,” cried Taran, delighted to have the crow with him once
     again. “Tell me,” he went on quickly, “how does Eilonwy fare? Does she miss--- all of us?”
    “Princess!” Kaw croaked, beating his wings. “Princess! Eilonwy! Taran!” He clacked his
     beak, hopped up and down on Taran's wrist, and set up such a jabbering and chattering that
     Taran could barely make out one word from another. The best he could understand was that
     Eilonwy's indignation at being forced to learn royal behavior had by no means dwindled,
     and that indeed she missed him--- tidings that both cheered Taran and sharpened his
     yearning for the golden-haired Princess.
    In the cavern on Mona, Kaw also managed to convey, Glew the giant had been restored to his
     original size by Dallben's potion.
    Kaw himself was in the best of spirits. Still gabbling at the top of his voice, he flapped
     his glossy black wings, hopped from Taran's wrist to greet the other companions, and even
     perched on Llyan's head, where he busily ran his beak through the great cat's tawny fur.
    “His eyes will help our search,” Taran said to Fflewddur, who had left his harp to come
     and stroke the bird's sleek feathers. “Kaw can scout the land better than any of us.”
    “So he can,” agreed Fflewddur, “if he has a mind to and if you can make him heed you.
     Otherwise the scamp will have his beak in everyone's business but his own.”
    “Yes, yes,” Gurgi added, shaking a finger at the crow. “Heed commands of kindly master!
     Help him with flyings and spyings, not pryings and lyings! ”
    In answer, the crow impudently thrust out a sharp black tongue. With a flirt of his tail
     he fluttered to the harp and began rapidly twanging the strings with his beak. At the
     bard's cry of protest, Kaw hopped from the instrument's curved frame and snatched up the
     tuning key, which he began dragging across the turf.
    “He's brazen as a magpie!” cried Fflewddur, setting off after the crow. “He's thieving as
     a jackdaw!”
    No sooner did Fflewddur come within half a pace of him than Kaw nimbly hopped away again,
     bearing the key in his beak. Squawking merrily, the crow stayed always out of Fflewddur's
     grasp, and Taran could not help laughing at the sight of the long-shanked bard vainly
     racing in circles, while Kaw danced ahead of him. When Gurgi and Taran joined the pursuit
     and Taran's fingers had come within a hair's breadth of the crow's tail feathers, Kaw shot
     upwards and flapped teasingly a short distance into the woods. There he lighted on the
     gnarled branch of a tall, ancient oak, and peered with bright beady eyes at the companions
     gathered below.
    “Come down,” Taran ordered as sternly as he could, for the bird's comical antics made it
     impossible for him to be seriously angry. “I've tried to teach him to behave,” Taran
     sighed, “but it's no use. He'll bring it back when he feels like it and not before.”
    “Hi, hi! Drop it!” called Fflewddur, waving his arms. “Drop it, I say!”
    At this Kaw bobbed his head, hunched up his