‘How should I know?’ asked Thol.
‘And you left them there? Do you not love them?’
‘I have never loved them.’
‘But they were your task?’
‘O Thia, the dragon was my task.’
She stroked his arm. ‘The dragon is dead, O Thol. You have slain the dragon, O my brave dear one. That task is done. You must find some other. All men must work. Since you loved not your sheep, you shall love my geese, and I will teach you to drive them with me.’
‘That,’ said Thol, ‘would not be a man’s work, O Thia.’
‘But they say you are a god! And I think a god may do as he will.’
Her flock had swum out into the pond. She called it back to her, and headed it away towards some willows. From one of these she plucked for Thol a long twig such as she herself carried, and, having stripped it of its leaves, gave it to him and began to teach him her art.
