“Certainly. Leaving everyone! This great swallow carried us then over Poll’s Camp and over the Gwent Lanes toward Cadbury Camp. It let us get down off its back at Cadbury Camp⁠ ⁠… which really is Camelot⁠ ⁠… and you and I drank at Arthur’s Well there; and the effect of drinking that water was to turn us both into swallows, or into some strange birds like swallows. We sat, all three, in a row, on a sycamore-branch above the valley; and we wondered and wondered where we’d fly to. And a lovely wind, blowing over the dark rain that is held in the hollows of old trees, ruffled our feathers; and we knew, being birds, the language of the wind; and it said to us, ‘The cuckooflowers have come out down by the Lunt!’ And it said to us, ‘If you stop chattering, you silly birds, and listen, you will hear the earth murmuring to itself as it sweeps forward through space.’ ”

“What did I say to it then, Wolf?” whispered the little girl, glancing anxiously at the door.