Chapter Nine
Time passed, and Ilsevel saw no one.
The wood seemed never to end, no matter how far she trudged. From time to time, a seeming curve in the pattern of the trees encouraged her to hope that she had stumbled upon a path, and that perhaps a meadow or a village or valley might lie just beyond her sight. But never did it prove to be true. Even the enchantments upon her clothes could not ward off the chill born of wet shoes and stockings and she grew miserable indeed.
She had retreated some way into her own thoughts, ignoring, as best she could, all that was comfortless in her surroundings, and thus it was that a new sound, however long hoped-for, took some little time to penetrate into her consciousness.
A slow, regular thump thump, attended by a soft, crisp sound as of snow cr
