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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. But it was frightening as well.
    Am I so changed by this illness that I will never see the world the same way again ? Corwin wondered. Is this another sign of madness? Worse yet, he worried that he would be so distracted that danger could overtake him. A contingent of royal guards might easily capture him while he was busy admiring the patterns on a pretty stone.
    At last Corwin came to a familiar bend in the road and a short path that led to a small, thatched hovel in a clearing. To one side of the path was an herb garden, which was lush with aromatic plants. Once Corwin had asked old Henwyneb how he could garden when blind. The button-maker had described in loving detail the feel of the earth, the different patterns of each herb’s leaves, and their scent when a stem or leaf is crushed. Corwin had thought such sensations the fancies of an old man, but now he could see each subtle difference in the patterns of the leaves, and the rich complexity of the aroma of the garden made him want to fall to his knees in awe.
    Before he could be caught in thrall with the wonders of the herb garden, Corwin hastened to the cottage door and knocked.
    â€œEnter,” Henwyneb called from inside.
    Corwin pushed the door open and went in. The dark interior was lit only by a tiny window covered with oiled paper and the fire in the hearth. The aroma of stew from the kettle on the grate was enticing enough to make Corwin’s mouth water and his stomach rumble.
    â€œAh,” Henwyneb went on, “I smell the sea upon you. Either you are Stephen the fisherman or you are my mysterious young shell-gatherer come to sell me your latest treasures from the shore.”
    As the old man came shuffling out of the shadows, Corwin was again entranced, now by the pattern of lines and wrinkles around Henwyneb’s pale, milky eyes and nearly toothless mouth. What is that, what is that ? the insistent questioner in his mind asked, and Corwin had to answer, It is the face of a man who has lived many years, laughed much laughter, and smiled many smiles, though his eyes are no longer of use.
    â€œWhy don’t you speak, visitor? Is . . . something the matter?” Henwyneb asked.
    â€œNo, Henwyneb,” Corwin answered. “Your second guess was right. But I only have one treasure to offer, and I’ll give it freely in exchange for some of your stew and a little medicine.”
    â€œAh. Been a while since your last meal, has it? Well, a meal I will gladly give you. As for the medicine, it will depend upon what you need. Let me see this treasure you have and I will consider the matter.”
    Corwin no longer even thought it was strange that the blind man spoke of “seeing.” He had watched Henwyneb discern more with the touch of his hands than most men could do with their sight. “Here it is.” Corwin handed the opalescent shell to Henwyneb, feeling a strange reluctance to let go of it.
    â€œHmmm.” Henwyneb’s hands caressed the shell as if it were a precious object. “Unusual, indeed. Most rare. Are you certain you wish to part with it?”
    â€œUm, well . . . ”
    â€œAs I thought. We will discuss any such trades later. First, let’s get some dinner into you. Your belly’s complaints are deafening me.” Henwyneb put the shell up on an already cluttered shelf and went to the hearth. With hands long accustomed to where everything was placed, Henwyneb took a ladle from a rack beside the hearth and a wooden bowl from the shelf above it. As he ladled the stew from the kettle into the bowl, Corwin sat down on one of the two stools in the room, nearly drooling with his desire to taste the stew. His mind was torn between the part asking, “What is that, what is that?” and his stomach saying, “Whatever it is, give it to me!