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. She found herself wondering just how. old
Trevarre was. He was not a young man, she suspected,
despite his foolhardiness.
The narrow road wound across the rolling foothills,
over grassy knolls and through groves of aspen and fir. In
places the trail was so faint Matya could hardly see it, and
several times it ended abruptly, only to be found continuing
a hundred paces to the left or right. It was almost as if the
land itself had shifted beneath the road, breaking it into
pieces.
As the hills slipped away to either side, Matya began to
feel a growing sense of unease. The land around them was
strangely silent. There are no birds here, she realized with a
start, here where the meadows should have been filled with
birds.
It was late in the afternoon, and the amber sunlight had
grown heavy and dull, when the wagon crested a low ridge.
Below lay a small, grassy dell, and in its center stood -
"Tambor," Trevarre said triumphantly.
Matya shook her head in astonishment. She had
expected to see a pile of ruins in the dell, the burned-out
husks of a few cottages perhaps, and some crumbling stone
walls. Instead she saw a prosperous village. More than a
score of well-tended cottages lined a main street, busy with
people, horses, chickens, and dogs. Smoke rose from a low
stone building - probably a smithy - and a mill's waterwheel
turned slowly in a small stream.
"You have kept your end of the bargain, Matya,"
Trevarre said solemnly. "Now it is my turn." He handed her
the leather pouch that contained the doll
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