The weather stayed fine, and they pushed onward until the island was a mere dot on the horizon behind them. Log-a-log noted the position of the sun and set a further course. Mara could not help noticing the admiring glances everybeast cast at her sword; as she paddled, it lay beside her, sparkling in the sunlight, its beautiful red pommel stone shining above the black bound hilt with its flaring silver crosstrees, the mirrored steel of the blade clear ice-blue, deep blood-channeled, and keenly double-edged down to the awesomely dangerous tip. It was a true warrior’s weapon with no unnecessary fancy bits and no sign of weakness in its design; the swordmaker had forged and tempered it with one thing in mind; a stout blade that would serve its owner well in battle. She stared at it hard until a dizziness came over her. Shaking her head, the young badger maid blinked and rubbed her eyes as she glanced out over the lake, then back to the sword. She gave a start. Pikkle noticed her strange behavior.

“What ho, old gel. Are you all right?”

Mara picked up the sword. Bringing it close to her face, she peered at the blade until her breath misted it. “Can you see anything in this blade, Pikkle?”

The young hare took a look and shook his head. “No, not a bally thing. Why d’you ask?”

“I saw the face of a mouse looking at me from the blade, a warrior mouse, fiercer than any fighting badger.” Mara kept her voice low so that only he could hear.

Pikkle let one ear droop comically. “You didn’t eat any strange fruit or plants on that island, did you? I remember one time I scoffed an old preserved damson I was sick as a frog for a day, and you wouldn’t believe the things I saw when I tried shuttin’ me eyes . . .”

Mara jabbed him with the end of her paddle. “Don’t talk silly, it was nothing like that. I tell you, I’d swear I saw this warrior mouse looking straight at me from the blade of that sword!”

Log-a-log had overheard Mara. He offered an explanation. “What you saw was probably the face of the shrew sitting behind you; the blade was lying at an angle where it caught his reflection and distorted it, what with the sunlight and the movement of the boat. It couldn’t be anything else, Mara, believe me.”

Mara thought about it for a moment then nodded. “Aye, you’re probably right, Log-a-log.”

As she resumed paddling she glanced back at the shrew behind her. He was an old Guosssom member with a thin face, one good eye and a flowing gray beard—nothing remotely like the fierce hot-eyed warrior she had seen reflected in the mirrored blade.

*   *   *

Morning gave way to noontide. They ate as they paddled, traveling on without any untoward event.