Запретный лес

           ButWoodileeitself--whitherhadfledthesavour?Once,Iknewfromthebooks,thegreatwoodofMelanudrigillhaddescendedfromtheheightsandflowedinblackwavestothevillagebrink.ButIcouldnotre-createthepictureoutofglisteningasphaltedhighway,singingtelegraphwires,sprucedwellings,modelpastures,andmanicuredwoodlands.

           ThenoneeveningfromtheHillofDeerIsawwithothereyes.Therewasacuriousleadensky,withabluebreakaboutsunset,sothattheshadowslayoddly.Myfirstthought,asIlookedatthefamiliarscene,wasthat,hadIbeenageneralinacampaign,IshouldhavetakenspecialnoteofWoodilee,foritwasapointofvantage.ItlayrightinthepassbetweentheScottishmidlandsandthesouth--thepassofroadandwater--yes,and--shallIsay?--ofspirit,foritwasinthethroatofthehills,onthemarchbetweenthesownandthedesert.Iwaslookingeast,andtomyleftandbehindmetheopendowns,farmedtotheirlastdecimalofcapacity,weretheancientlandofManann,thecapitalprovinceofPictdom.Thecollieryheadgearonthehorizon,thetrivialmoorishhilltops,thedambrod-patternfields,couldnevertamewhollyformethatland’sromance,andonthiseveningIseemedtobegazingatathingantiqueandwolfish,trickedoutforthemomentwithasheep’scoat....Tomyrightrosethehuddleofgreathillswhichcradleallourrivers.Tothemtimeandweatherbringlittlechange,yetinthateerielight,whichrevealedinhardoutlinewhileitobscuredindetail,theyseemedtooremoteandawfultobethekindlygiantswithwhoseglensIdailyconversed.