Then Myrdu, fearin' that he might yet lose her, threw a handful o' twigs behind him in the road; an' fallin' they turned into dead trees, stoppin' the way on all sides. But Artan well knew the way to clear his path.
"Go forward!" he cried to the wandherin' flame, "an' leave not a trace o' them!" As he spoke, the flame swept up high in air, roarin' an' smokin'; an' in half an instant naught remained o' the logs but a pile o' smoldherin' ashes. But still was Myrdu fast nearin' his goal, an' had one thing more for helpin'.
He dropped a little sharp knife in the roadway; an' as it fell, it cut into the dust, an' there opened a wide, terrible chasm, not to be crossed by horse nor man. Then Artan grew clear desperate.
"Wave!" he shouted, "bring Darthuil to me!"
Up then it rose, rollin' forward like flood-tide in spring; an' it filled the gulf, an' swept away dogs an' horse an' Myrdu himself, that none were heard of from that on; but Darthuil it floated gentle like, as she had been a tuft o' thistle-down, back to Artan, waitin' for her.
He caught her an' clasped her close, an' turned his horse, an' never halted till he led her safe into the hall o' Duallach, where none might steal her from him again. An' there they lived happy all their lives.
But as for the wind an' the wave an' the wandherin' flame, so sweet an' fair was Darthuil that ne'er would they go from her to return to Len. To the last o' her life the wind blew soft for her when 'twas overly hot elsewhere, an' clear cool wather flowed up from the ground to save her dhrawin' any from the river, an' fire burned bright on her hearth without need o' plenishin'; an' all that for the love o' Darthuil, that was made by Len out o' the foam tossed by the wind from the sea-wave, an' the wandherin' flame o' the sunrise.
THE KING, THE QUEEN, AND THE BEE