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forest this long,” Mérian said, “what is another season or two?”
    “Season or two?” said Henwydd, growing angry. “Why not ten or twenty?”
    “If you have something to say,” Bran replied sternly, “go on, say it. Speak your mind.”
    “We believed in you, my lord. We trusted you. I have suffered this outlaw life for the hope of the deliverance you promised. But I cannot abide another season scrabbling hand to mouth in the greenwood. It is no fit life, and I am too old.”
    Others, too, spoke out against the desperate life in the forest, with its darkness and dangers—exposure, privation, and the constant fear of discovery. If the Ffreinc didn’t kill them, they said, the wolves would. They had followed Bran this far, but now that there was no hope of justice to be had from the Ffreinc, it was time to think what was best for themselves. “William the Red commands armies beyond number,” one man said. “We cannot fight them all, and only a fool would try.”
    Bran glowered, but held his tongue.
    “I am sorry, my lord,” continued Henwydd, “but you see how it is. I beg leave to quit the forest. I have never asked anything of you, but I’m asking you now to grant me leave to depart.”
    “And where will you go?” asked Mérian.
    “Well,” considered the old man, “I have kinsmen still in Dyfed. It may be they will take me in. But whether they do or don’t makes no matter, ’cause anywhere is better than here.”
    “There we have it,” Bran said, eyes alight and voice cold. He turned and addressed the rest of the settlement. “Who else feels this way? Who else wants to leave the forest?” He swung around, his voice attacking. “Iwan? Will Scarlet? Siarles, what about you? Mérian—God knows you’ve wanted to leave often enough, why not go now?” He glared around at the ring of grim faces. None would meet his ferocious stare.
    Mérian, standing beside Tuck, grasped the friar’s hand. “Oh, no,” she breathed, tears starting to her eyes. Tuck grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze.
    “Who else is for leaving?” demanded Bran. “If you would go, speak up. All who wish to leave may go with my blessing. I do not force anyone to stay who would not do so gladly and of their own accord.”
    There was an instant commotion at this, and the forest-dwellers began arguing it over amongst themselves. Some were for leaving, others for staying, and all shouting to be heard and convince the rest. Bran let this continue until most had had a chance to speak out, then said, “Well? What say you? Anyone else want to go? Step up and take your place with Henwydd. For all saints bear witness, I do not care to stand with anyone who does not care to stand with me.”
    At first, no one moved, and then, one by one, others joined Henwydd until a group of seventeen men and women, some with children, stood together in a dismal clump.
    “So, now,” Bran, his face hard, addressed those who had chosen to leave. “Gather your things and make ready to depart—take whatever you need for your journey. If you would have my advice, wait until the sun goes down and make your way by night; you should avoid any Ffreinc and reach the borders of Elfael before sunrise tomorrow. I bid you God’s speed, and may you all fare well.”
    With that, he turned and strode to his hut.
    A shocked and dismayed Cél Craidd watched him go. Iwan and Siarles looked on aghast, and Scarlet and Mérian began to persuade those who had decided to leave that they were making a mistake—but thought better of it. The tight bond between King Raven and his proud Grellon was broken; the settlement was divided and there was nothing anyone could do.
    Later, as twilight deepened the shadows in the wood, Friar Tuck called the people together for a prayer of thanks for their deliverance from the hands of the enemy and for a safe return, and for the future of the realm. He then led his discouraged flock in a hymn; he sang the first verses alone, but soon