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. After that,
they would move the casks, as gently as possible, into the store-
room with the stone floor, and give them until the next full moon
to age in cool and quiet. If they had extra casks by then, and if they
had the energy, Otik and Tika would pour the beer into freshly
washed containers for its final aging. Often, Otik cast about for ex-
cuses to avoid that stage; scrubbing twice for each batch, and
repouring half-done beer, seemed an awful lot of work for a
pleasant drink.
For now, though, the hard part of the brewing process was over,
and it seemed to them both that the alewort already smelled
delicious. Tika, her troubles forgotten, or at least submerged,
sang another verse to 'The Song of Elen Waiting':
WILL SOMEONE WHO KNOWS
WHERE ALL THE TIME GOES
COME AND LEAD ME AWAY BY THE HAND,
I KNOW DAY BY DAY
I'M FADING AWAY;
IT'S MORE THAN MY HEART CAN STAND.
IT'S NOT THAT HE KNEW
MORE THAN ANY MEN DO,
BUT HE KNEW ALL MY HEART EVER HAD;
THE BIRDS WATCH AND HEAR
AND WAIT EVERY YEAR,
BUT ALL OF THEIR SONGS ARE SAD.
Otik, resealing another cask, felt a shadow of what Tika heard
in the song. "That's pretty." He looked at the worn and time-
darkened casks. "We had songs like that when I was a lad, too."
"Like that one?" The girl was appalled. Surely no one had ever
written a song that deep and meaningful before.
"As good or better." He grinned at her. "Some of them even
talked about birds
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