to her work about meadow and acre. Otherwise her mistress nowise
mishandled or threatened her, though she had gone back to the
surliness and railing which was her wont. At last, on a morning when
the dame had bidden her to nought of work, Birdalone took her bow in
her hand and cast her quiver on her back, and went her ways into the
wood, and forgat not the tress of Habundia's hair; but she had no
need to use it, for when she was come to the Oak of Tryst,
straightway came Habundia forth from the thicket, and now so like to
Birdalone that it was a wonder, for as her friend she bare bow and
quiver, and green gown trussed up till her knees were naked.

So they kissed and embraced, and Birdalone wept upon her friend's
bosom, but was ashamed of the words which would have told her of her
case. Then Habundia set her down upon the greensward, and sat down
beside her, and caressed her and soothed her; then she smiled on
Birdalone, and said: Thy tale is partly told without words, and I
would weep for thee if I might shed tears. But thou mayest tell me
wherefore thou didst suffer this; though forsooth I have an inkling
thereof. Hast thou happened on the witch's ferry?

Even so it was, sister, quoth Birdalone. And therewith she plucked
up heart, and told her all the tale of the vanishing of her body and
the skin-changing. And Habundia answered: Well then, there is this
to be said, that sooner or later this must have happened, for thereby
lieth thy road of escape; wherefore it is better sooner than later.
But tell me again: was she fierce and rough in words with thee? for
what she said to thee thou hast not yet told me. Said Birdalone: In
her first fury, when she was like to have slain me, she had no words,
nought but wolfish cries. But thereafter she spake unto me
strangely, yet neither fiercely nor roughly; nay, it seemed to me as