Upon this direct telling I think I became in all ways my sane self—weak, indeed, but no longer whimsical. I felt that Grûl’s promise was much better than I could have hoped. I knew there would be need of all my strength. I was a man again, no more a sick child. And I would wait.
Grûl busied himself a few minutes about the cave, in a practical, every-day fashion that consorted most oddly with his guise and fame. I could not but think of a mad king playing scullion. But there was none of the changing light of madness in his eyes.
Soon he seated himself at the cave-mouth, and said, pointing to a roughly shaped ledge with a wolfskin upon it:
“Come hither, now, and take this good air. It will medicine your thin veins.”
Obeying gladly, I was soon stretched on the wolfskin at the very brink, as it seemed, of the open world. But it was cold. Perceiving this, he arose without a word, fetched another skin, and tucked it about me. His tenderness of touch was like a woman’s.
“How can I thank you?” I began. “It is to you, I now perceive, that I owe my life. How much besides I know not!”
He waved my thanks aside something impatiently.
“Yes, I saved you,” said he. “It suited me to do so. I foresaw you would some day repay me. And I like you, boy. I trust you; though in some ways you are a vain fool.”
I laughed. I had such confidence in him I began to think he would bring all my desires to pass.
“And I have been wont to imagine you a madman,” said I. “But I seem to have been mistaken.”