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Page 398
go to Rhiannon as he had promised. By then the pain would have become dulled by long familiarity, whereas the joy and lust aroused by seeing him again would be fresh and new. In any case, Kicva would know what to do if Rhiannon changed her mind, whatever the cause. The escort who went with Rhiannon carried a letter to be given to Kicva in secret.
The weather was unusually benign as Rhiannon traveled home, as if the countryside had set out to make her welcome. The days were warm, the nights crisp and just cold enough to make a fire a true pleasure. The hills were breathtakingly beautiful, each tree flaming or glowing in gold, orange, red, or maroon. A multicolored carpet of shifting patterns, all lovely, padded the roads and the pathways through the forests. Rhiannon was too sensitive to be unaware, but the awareness only caused her more pain, for she saw the beauty and could take no joy in it. Worse, the nearer she came to home, where she expected to find peace, the stronger grew her compulsion to turn about and hurry back. If she were with Llewelyn, at least she would hear news of Simon.
The impulse was so imperative that she would have yielded if she had not known she would be unwelcome. Llewelyn did not carry his womenfolk around with him when he was going to or preparing for war. If she went back, he would promptly send her home again. She cursed and wept, and when she arrived at Angharad's Hall she barely greeted her mother before she ran out on the hills. But even this last comfort failed her, and when she tried to call some wolf cubs to her, they retreated into their den.
Rhiannon called herself a fool for that. She knew she could not "call" when she was angry or hurt, and the hills could give no comfort when each favorite spot reflected an image of Simon. There could be no quick cure, she admitted, having known it all along. She would have to endure from day to day, not even

 
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