Free The Foundling by Lloyd Alexander

The Lord of the Land of Death was the enemy most dreaded throughout Prydain. “For the sake of Hen Wen, I would brave Arawn himself,” said Coll. “But even if I could find my way, his guards would discover me before I set one foot within Annuvin.” Coll put his head in his hands. “My pig is lost, and Prydain is doomed.”
    â€œPinfeathers!” said Ash-Wing. “We owls know all the forest paths, and I will guide you to Annuvin. Under cover of darkness, you can slip past the guards. I will show you how, for I see better at midnight than other creatures see at noon. By the way, how many hazelnuts did you eat?”
    When Coll replied that he did not know, Ash-Wing blinked at him. “Who but a human would eat them without counting! Let me tell you this: each nut is a day given you to understand the speech of birds and animals. When that power is gone, I can help no longer.”
    Hurriedly, Coll set out again with Ash-Wing on his shoulder. Though Coll’s fear for his pig had grown greater, his heart also turned to his farm. “The worms will have their joy of my cabbages,” said Coll to himself. “And blight on my beans. And scale on my apple trees. And my poor turnips—surely this is the end of them, whatever.”
    He had journeyed less than a day, following the owl’s guidance, when a thrashing noise broke into his thoughts. A tall stag had caught his antlers in a thornbush, and the more the creature struggled, the more he was entangled. Ash-Wing fluttered overhead
while Coll, heedless of his torn garments and the deep scratches on his face and hands, ripped away the sharp thorns.
    The stag leaped free, then bowed his head courteously to Coll. “My name is Oak-Horn,” said the stag, “and I owe you my life. The Huntsmen of King Arawn ride abroad! Had they found me—my antlers tremble at the thought!”
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    â€œTarry no longer,” Ash-Wing cried to Coll. “Not only may the Huntsmen come upon us. The power of the hazelnuts may leave you before we reach Annuvin.”
    â€œAnnuvin?” gasped Oak-Horn. “The very name makes my antlers wilt!”
    When Coll told of his quest, the stag shuddered and rolled his eyes fearfully. “To be truthful,” said Oak-Horn, “we stags are not—well, we are not the boldest folk in the forest. But we are the swiftest. If speed can help you, I will do my best.”
    Oak-Horn bore Coll on his back and Ash-Wing perched atop the stag’s antlers. As they quickly journeyed on, Coll yearned more and more for his comfortable chair by his warm fireside.
    â€œAnd by this time,” sighed Coll, “the beetles will be hard at work in my garden; that is, if they can find it under the weeds. As for my unhappy turnips—best not even think of them.”
    Suddenly, Oak-Horn reared up. A bird greater than the greatest eagle beat its wings and clawed savagely at a cleft rock. A tiny mole was cornered there, unable to flee or dig to safety. Coll sprang from Oak-Horn’s back, snatched up a branch, and laid about him so furiously that the huge bird took flight.
    â€œA gwythaint!” cried Oak-Horn, in such alarm that his antlers quivered. “One of King Arawn’s messengers! It will carry news of us
to the Land of Death. Ah, Coll, your quest is ruined. Ruined for a mere mole!”
    â€œMere mole indeed!” squealed the little creature. “I am Star-Nose, Chief Mole of Prydain. In all our councils and clans, our fellowships and families, the name of Coll will be honored.”
    The mole scurried away. Ash-Wing urged all possible haste, and they set off once more. While the owl grumbled bitterly at the pridefulness of moles, and the stag shivered with fright at every step, Coll was silent and heavy-hearted. He feared his gift of understanding might vanish at any moment. Even if it did not, the gwythaint would surely raise the alarm in Annuvin. “Yet I could do no