Rodriguez ate his breakfast while the bowmen waited with their
bows all strung by the door. When he was ready they all set off in
the early light through the forest.
Rodriguez did not criticise his ambition; it sailed too high above
his logic for that; but he regretted it, as he went through the
beauty of the forest among these happy men. But we must all have
an ambition, and Rodriguez stuck to the one he had. He had
another, but it was an ambition with weak wings that could not
come to hope. It depended upon the first. If he could win a castle
in the wars he felt that he might even yet hope towards Lowlight.
Little was said, and Rodriguez was all alone with his thoughts. In
two hours they met a bowman holding two horses. They had gone
eight miles.
"Farewell to the forest," said Miguel to Rodriguez. There was
almost a query in his voice. Would Rodriguez really leave them? it
seemed to say.
"Farewell," he answered.
Morano too had looked sideways towards his master, seeming almost
to wonder what his answer would be: when it came he accepted it
and walked to the horses. Rodriguez mounted: willing hands helped
up Morano. "Farewell," said Miguel once more. And all the bowmen
shouted "Farewell."
"Make my farewell," said Rodriguez, "to the King of Shadow
Valley."
A twig cracked in the forest.
"Hark," said Miguel. "Maybe that was a boar."
"I cannot wait to hunt," said Rodriguez, "for I have far to go.
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