Corpus Tamrielicum - The Imperial Library

[63] A TALE OF KIERAN
IV.
Kieran was fair disgusted. Twas bad enough that he had to touch the slimy thing, but now it
was oozing something and becoming truly revolting. Finally, just before he reached the
robin's oak, he could take it no longer. He stopped and examined the creature in his hand.
White and plump and glistening, it was, in truth, a repellent creature. Yet the poor thing was
obviously terrified. It gazed up at him with what he imagined to be minuscule grub eyes,
pleading. Kieran thought of the caterpillar and the earthworm, and his heart gave in. Heaving
a great resigned sigh, he found a nice clean root and placed the grub upon it. And thus was
Loziard's spell broken. None could have been more astonished than Einlea when she
unexpectedly grew to her former size, except, perhaps for Kieran, who nearly died of fright.
He was no more than catching his breath when Einlea regained her wits. Raising her index
finger, warning Kieran not to say even ONE word, Einlea snatched Kieran's coat to cover
herself. Then, with fire in her eyes, and as much dignity as she could muster, she was off to
Trowbridge, leaving Kieran to stare, open-mouthed, at her departing figure. Einlea knew she
could not simply enter the city and confront Loziard. The moment he saw her, he would but
cast another enchantment upon her. So, disguising herself as a shepherd, she found an
abandoned house on the moors and began to make her plans.
What happened next is a tale worth hearing. But it is a tale for another evening. Indeed, it is a
tale to be told over many an evening, and many a good pot of ale. And what of the baby
robins? Having no alternative, Kieran climbed the tree and took from his pack his last piece of
fatty mutton. Tearing it into small shreds, he gave it to the grateful mother robin, who fed it to
her family. Upon returning to the ground, Kieran looked first toward Fairtree, his former
destination, then, grinning, set off after the most surprising young lady, for whom he now had
many questions. "Who knows ..." he called back to the robins, "It may be fate. And besides, I
need my coat." He was heard, late that evening, far down the road, singing: "Oh, the maidens
of Trowbridge are passing fair ... ...with breasts like melons, and flaxen hair ..."
317