A black mare brought him,
Grizzled with travel,
Slouched, about to drop.
None knew from whence he came
But there in front of the house of a hag
Who sat in the last of the sun,
The pair did stop
Slow with effort, he raised his head,
In hoarse unfriendly whisper said,
"Have you water, food or bed?"
The hag stared beyond to the mountains,
Moved not till the sun was cold
Then stood and looked into him,
"By what right are you so bold?
“Chop wood and build up the fire.
You'll work for your supper at least."
Then turned to the house as she added,
"There's naught for the beast"
He growled and spat then reeled from his mount
And picked up the axe with a snarl.
He worked from anger not strength
Until was heard an owl's call.
When food and fire were both consumed,
He fell into sleep like one dead
And though naught had passed between them, it seemed
In her lap she cradled his head.
He dreamed of a camp by a river,
Stars ablaze, tall trees
The gentle caress of a woman
Like the touch of a warm summer breeze.
When he woke, the house was empty.
His gear had been polished as new.
Outside a waiting white charger.
The sky was clear and blue.
His anger had all but left him
Yet still there was no rest.
In turmoil and filled with strange longing
He now rode a different quest.
Confused and in wonder he rode like a wind.
In his heart he felt a breeze blowing.
And a voice seemed to say,
"Not yet can you stay
but there is hope even so in the going."
