A little while later he burst through the screen of brush. And saw the highroad below him. He wiped his face. The road dipped down a hill to a little bridge. He was safe enough now. What was it Melora had said? The highroad was six miles away from the farm, Due west, and he could tell the west by the sun. He must have covered a dozen, finding the road, But getting back would be easy. The sun was high. He ought to be starting soon. But he lay down And stared for a while at the road. It was good to see A road in the open again, a dust-bitten road Where people and horses went along to a town. —Dryad, deep in the woods, your trails are small, Winding and faint⁠—they run between grass and flowers⁠— But it is good once more to come on a road That is not drowsy with your idleness⁠—