“It wasn’t that the road was unknown to him—Corwin had walked down it many times in the past month, usually carrying heavy bags of shells for Henwyneb to buy. Now he carried only one shell, yet his pace was slow, so slow. His strange ailment had subsided, but it had left him weak and weary. But there was another cause as well—his thoughts were now constantly distracted. He was regarding the most ordinary things, such as an oak tree, a flower, a butterfly, or a colorful rock, as if he were a newb...orn baby seeing these things for the first time. He would see a bluebird fluttering in the treetops, or hear the song of a meadowlark, or the humming of a bumblebee and part of his mind would ask, “What is that? What is that?” as a child who has newly learned speech will pester its mother. It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember anything. He could answer himself easily, and he knew as much as he ever did of the names of trees and flowers and birds. In a way, it was a gift to see all these things anew and wonder at them.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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