（外文电子版资料）Charles De Lint - A Pattern of Silver Strings.pdf

A Pattern of Silver Strings by Charles de Lint For Mary Ann Nagakaramu Kokoro mo shirazu Kurokami no Midarete kesa wa Mono wo koso omoe Lady Horikawa [Will he always love me? I cannot read his heart. This morning my thoughts Are as disordered As my hair.] Meran Gwynder was the daughter of an oak king and the wife of a harper, though neither her royal green blood nor her marriage seemed very real to her just now. Loss filled her heart and she could find no way to deal with it. The sadness of what seemed a broken trust shared an uneasy rule with her unending questions. If she could know why… He left without a word, she said. Bethowen the hillwife clicked her teeth in reply, though whether the sound was meant to be sympathetic or was only a habit, re-mained debatable. They sat on a hilltop, under the guardianship of an old longstone, with the stars glimmering pale in the night skies above and the fire between them throwing strange shadows that seemed to echo the whisper of the wind as it braided the hills grasses. Stirring the fire with a short stick, Bethowen looked through the glitter of sparks at her guest. Meran had nut-brown skin and brown-green hair. She was slim, but strong-limbed. Her eyes were the liquid brown of an otters. The hillwife could see none of this in the poor light. Those images she drew up from her memory. What she saw was a troubled woman, her features strained and wan in the firelight. At the oak-maids knee the striped head of Old Badger looked up to meet the hillwifes eyes. Men will do that, Bethowen said at last. Its not a new thing, my dear. Not him. What makes me wonder, the hillwife continued as though shed never been interrupted, is what brings one of the treefolk so far from her tree. Ogwen Wood was a good two hours south and west across the dark hills, a long distance for an oakmaid. My tree fell in a storm years ago—you never heard? I should— would have died but for him. As the green blood spilled, he d