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Page 51
her name, and now, lying on the sun-warmed earth, she found her head turning toward the east, where Rhuddlan keep lay, or to where Dinas Emrys towered above the Vale of Waters. She told herself that one naturally chose a southern meadow because there the sun felt warmest and the mornings in the hills were chilly even in the end of July on the fairest day. But when the wind murmured Simon seeks across the tall grass, Rhiannon rose and fled.
"I am not happy," she cried to her mother, whom she found seated before her loom.
Kicva lifted her head from the intricate pattern she was weaving and looked steadily at her daughter. They were alike to an unusual degree, except that the mother's hair was lighter and streaked with gray; Rhiannon's thick black mane came from her father.
"I have noticed," she said, and looked back at her weaving to hide the amusement in her eyes.
It was a wool as fine as silk with which Kicva worked, dyed just the leaf-green color of Rhiannon's eyes, and the pattern in gleaming gold was of interlaced branches upon which many birds perched. Rhiannon did not look at her mother's work; Kicva was always about some household task. The daughter's sensitive nostrils flared with irritation.
"Am I such a fool as to be ensorceled by a handsome face?" Rhiannon asked furiously.
"I did not think so," Kicva replied, "but you must know yourself better than I can. What you say, I must accept."
"What?" Rhiannon cried, stamping her foot. "You say I am like all those others, creeping after him to beg for a kiss for the sake of his beauty."
"I did not say that at all." Kicva's voice was perfectly grave, and her eyes did not lift from her weaving. "I have no idea what you will do. You heard what I said. If you want to know more certainly what I mean, you

 
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