|
Garmund froze in his tracks to stare at Falco, unsure whether to believe the story or not. There had been nothing in Falco's voice to make Garmund think that he was being teased.
For Garmund had been told a story of two-headed giants, who, in times long forgotten, had dwelt among the wilds of the mountains in the North. The giants fell upon the Wold, stealing horses and burning farms until Aldhelm came with his bright sword and drove the giants back to the hills.
But that had been a child's story, told to Garmund and Lčođern by their father as they sat around a fire and the evening shadows grew deep around them. Twins sharing one pair of legs seemed to belong more to old legends than the light of day. As Garmund thought upon the tale, he recalled another story out of the North. A story of little people who lived in the sides of hills and rivers. Falco had walked out of those tales to dwell in Rohan. Some legends could hold truth. Garmund knew that the stranger in the ruins was not a giant from the story, but maybe there had once been others like him who were the beginning of the tale.
"One set of legs, but twins on top? Two heads, four arms, and everything?"
|