Tales From The Perilous Realm

I have been hardly more than a wandering explorer (or trespasser) in the land, full of wonder but not of information.

river. My fingers on your back would set your hide a-shiver.’

He knocked as he passed on doors locked fast, and called and cried in vain, Till he came to an inn that had light within, and he tapped at a window-pane. A drowsy cook gave a surly look, and ‘What do you want?’ said he. ‘I want fire and gold and songs of old and red wine flowing free!’

for ever still a messenger, a passenger, a tarrier, a-roving as a feather does, a weather-driven mariner.

‘We must be satisfied with the soup that is set before us, and not desire to see the bones of the ox out of which it has been boiled.’