Sir Perditus walked east, and once again he found that he was guided by the familiar star. Soon he came to a great forest, through which there was no path. So he pushed, and cut, and hacked, and forced his way along, but he quickly grew very tired, for the forest floor was thick with brush, brambles, vines, roots, rocks, logs, stumps, and thorns. When he came upon a trail which crossed his path, running the wrong direction, he thought he might follow it, in the hope that it might lead him to another which ran his way, or perhaps even turn and take him where he needed to go. But as soon as he did, he knew he had gone wrong, and he had not followed it very far before he saw that it was no good and that he must either abandon the star or the trail. But he thought that his going might be easier if he went without his surcoat, which was the thing that snagged and tore most in the undergrowth, and so he removed it and left it on the forest path.
And ever, as he walked through the forest, he thought of Viola.
After many days, the forest ended, and he had easy going for a little while, through pleasant, grassy country. But then he came to a river, and the river was both wide and deep, and running very fast and high from the melting snows in the mountains from which it had its birth, for it was Spring. Sir Perditus walked for many miles along its bank, first in one direction and then in the other, but no bridge or ford or crossing could he find, and at last he decided that he must swim it, for the star did not waver in its direction, but hung fixedly, resolutely, almost he imagined, impatiently in the sky night after night directly on the other side of the river. So he doffed his mail coat, tied his sword in its sheath and his other possessions in a bundle and placed them on his shield as a kind of raft to float them across, and waded out into the rushing current.
It was very hard going, harder than the forest had been, and several times he despaired of getting his things across, and once of his life, but in the end he made it, utterly exhausted, and collapsed on the far bank unable to go a step further that day. But he did immediately take his sword out of its sheath and dry it as best he could, so that it would not rust. Fortunately for him, the sun was out and the day was warm and lovely, and so before long he was dry and warm, and feeling quite comfortable. He had something to eat of the provisions the hermit had given him, and rested all that day and through the night, and the next day continued on his way.
But as he swam, and struggled against the current, and even as he despaired of his life and thought he would drown, he thought of Viola.
He traveled on, and the grassy plain stretched on and on. Water began to become scarce, and he had to ration it, but then he was always thirsty. And it was hot. He was glad, now, not to be wearing his hauberk anymore, but the sun beat on his steel helm like a warhammer, and so he took it off and left it lying on the plain, and instead tied a cloth about his head, Saracen-style, to keep the sun from burning him. But still, it was very hard going, and a day came when he drank the last drops of his water and could find no more. He did not know what to do, except to stumble on after the star's leading, and trust that it would not lead him to his death. Or, if it did, that that was what was appointed to him and he must accept it.
And as he stumbled along, with his head spinning and his eyes going black, and thought of water with excruciating longing, he also thought of Viola, and longed for her even more.
And at last, after two days as long as ages without water, he came upon a little spring flowing out of a rock, and there he drank his fill, although it made him feel sick at first, and there he rested two days, drinking and bathing his face in the little pool the water made as it flowed out of the earth. And it was then that he first noticed that the land had begun to roll and swell, and the rock from which the little spring flowed was merely the first of a wide country of rolling hills, and beyond them were mountains. They were high and sharp, and the tops were still covered in snow, but he knew he must go straight on, remembering how turning aside had not helped him in the forest or at the river, and that following the star straight on had saved his life on the plain. So on and up he went, trying to find the best path he could but always following the direction in which he had last seen the star. Up, and down, and then up again he climbed, but always more up than down. It became very steep, and very rocky, so that sometimes he was scrambling on all fours over huge boulders, and sometimes he was sliding down gravelly slopes, trying not to fall or to set off an avalanche. As he climbed ever higher, his breath came shorter and harder, everything he carried seemed to weigh ten times what it had before. He cast away his shield, for it seemed foolish to carry such a heavy thing when every step and every breath was so difficult.
But with every step, and every breath, he thought of his lovely Princess Viola, and thought to himself that it would all be worthwhile if only his steps were leading him toward her.
After many weary days and as many cold nights, he crested the last mountain and began to come down the other side. And as he began to descend at last, he found himself looking down at a pleasant and inviting country of villages, farms, hamlets, towns, and castles. It was unfamiliar to him, but, he thought, there was something about it which he could not quite define. Almost as though it should have been familiar; as if he had seen it in a dream or a very old and forgotten memory. He reached the valley floor, weary to the bone, filthy, and bedraggled, and soon began to pass scattered farms and houses where he could stop and ask for bread, for he had run out of food some days before. The people who lived in that country were seemingly ordinary enough people, who spoke the same language as Sir Perditus, though somewhat strangely. But there was an odd feeling everywhere he went. They were not exactly unfriendly, and when he asked for something to eat or permission to sleep in a barn, he was usually given that for which he asked. But it was given somewhat grudgingly, and always hastily, as if they were very anxious to have him move on or get out of sight, and thought that giving him what he wanted was the quickest way to get rid of him.
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