Smoke in the Wind Read Online Free

at the thought of such a thing.
    The woods were stirring with life now. He saw a common shrew, a tiny brown creature, race out of a bush in front of him, skid to a halt and sniff. Its poor eyesight was made up for by its keen sense of smell. It caught his scent at once, gave a squeak, and then disappeared within a split second.
    As it did so, high above came the regretful call of a circling red kite who must have spotted the tiny, elusive creature even through the canopy of bare branches and, had it not been for Brother Cyngar’s appearance, might have taken it as its breakfast.
    Only once did Brother Cyngar start and raise his stick defensively at a nearby ominous rustling. He relaxed almost immediately as he caught sight of the orange-brown fur coat with white spots and broad blade antlers that denoted a solitary fallow deer which turned and bounded away through the undergrowth to safety.
    Finally, Brother Cyngar could see, along the path ahead of him, the trees gradually giving way to an open stretch of bracken-strewn hillside. He began to sense a feeling of relief that the major dark portions of the wood were now behind him. He even paused, laid down his stick and took out his knife as he spotted an array of orange at the edge of the footpath. He bent down and carefully inspected the fungus with its white, downy underside. It was not difficult to recognise this edible species which many ate raw or soaked in honey-mead. The little harvest was too good to miss and Brother Cyngar gathered it into the small marsupium he wore on his belt.
    He rose, picked up his stick again and began to walk on with the renewed energy which comes with knowing one’s objective is almost in sight.
    On the far side of the next hill lay the community of Llanpadern, the sacred enclosure of the Blessed Padern, where nearly thirty brothers of the faith lived and worked in devotion to the service of God. It was to this community that Brother Cyngar was travelling. He planned to seek hospitality there, an opportunity to break his fast, before continuing his journey on to the famous abbey of Dewi Sant on Moniu, which some Latinised as Menevia. The abbey was the authority over all the religious communities of the kingdom of Dyfed. Brother Cyngar had been entrusted with messages for Abbot Tryffin by his own Father Superior. He had left on his journey shortly after noon on the previous day and hence his overnight stop at the woodsman’s cottage, after completing nearly twenty kilometres of his journey, before venturing through the notorious woods of Ffynnon Druidion. He had left the woodsman’s cottage too early for breakfast but, knowing that the hospitality of Llanpadern was a byword among pilgrims journeying south to Moniu, he did not mind delaying his morning meal.
    Brother Cyngar walked entirely at ease now. The sun, while not exactly breaking through the clouds, was warm enough to dispel the early morning frost. Birds wheeled and darted about the skies on their many food-gathering tasks and the air was filled with their cacophony; plaintive, angry, argumentative, depending on their natures.
    He came over the shoulder of the bare rocky hill called Carn Gelli. On its height stood a heap of stones, one raised upon another, to denote an ancient grave, which gave the place its name. Brother Cyngar halted and, from the vantage point, peered down into the valley beyond. A short distance below him was the grey stone complex of buildings. Smoke drifted reassuringly from a central chimney. He walked down the pathway, his speed increasing, his body propelled more by the steepness of the path than a desire to reach the gates in a hurry.
    As he followed the path to the main gates of the community he noticed, surprisingly, that they stood open and deserted. This fact made him frown. It was unusual, even at this early hour, for it was the custom of the brethren of Llanpadern to be out in the surrounding fields, beginning their work at first light even on such a