They hurtled down the path which zig-zagged down the crags in a precipitous fashion. It was so steep, in fact, that when the witch and Sootica appeared from the cave, they were actually directly over their heads, high above them.
“Stop! Wait!” the witch shrieked, hurling something from a wooden ladle that fell like rain down the rocks, in a thousand rainbow-coloured drops.
As he galloped along the little wooden horse received a full dollop on his back, and all at once a most extraordinary sensation filled his body.
He found himself lifting his feet and his wheels from the path. The stones no longer bruised his feet. His wheels, that were wearing out, shed no splinters. He was beginning to fly!
“Gobbolino! Jump on my back! Quickly! Quickly!” he called to the cat scampering on ahead.
Gobbolino stopped, turned round, and leapt in one great bound on to his back.
As he did so the little wooden horse soared into the air.. higher, higher, and still higher..
Now they were on a level with the witch and Sootica who laughed and waved their hands to them from the door of the cavern. The goats, grazing on the rocks, raised their heads and bleated in admiration.
“Goodbye! Goodbye!” called Sootica and the witch, as the wooden horse veered away towards the south.
“We promise!” they shouted after the flying pair. “We promise! Goodbye! Goodbye!”
“My ear is there to make sure they keep their promise!” the little wooden horse said, flying steadily southwards. “If they try to throw it away it will burn their fingers far, far worse than the flames in the magic circle.”
“How do you know?” asked Gobbolino.
“I just do!” said the little wooden horse solemnly.
They flew high over the church, where the bells were ringing for service. They would have liked to go down and say a last goodbye to the old priest and his housekeeper, but they did not know how long the spell would last, and if it came to an end in the middle of the plain they would be worse off than before.
[Êàðòèíêà: i_039.jpg]
“Goodbye!” called Sootica and the witch.
So they flew over the steeple, and on across the stream, and now the forest was a dark shadow on the horizon, while down below the pack of hounds were quartering the plain, just as they had done the day before.
Safe as they were at such a height, neither of them could repress a shudder as the dreadful music came to their ears, but soon it was lost far behind them.
“Are you tired?” Gobbolino asked the little wooden horse, as he thought he felt him falter.
“Not exactly,” said the little wooden horse, “but I think the spell may be coming to an end, because I can’t fly quite as high as I did at first.”
“Well, never mind,” said Gobbolino comfortingly, “because we are very nearly at the forest!”
It was quite true. The trees, that for a long time had been only a far shadow, were now just a short distance below them, and as the flying powers of the little wooden horse slowly faded, they floated lower and lower towards the upraised branches, coming gently to earth at the foot of a pine tree, and landing on a bed of pine needles that felt as soft as feathers after the rigours of the mountain.
Gobbolino jumped to the ground.
“Do you think you will be able to fly again?” he asked the little wooden horse.
“No, never! Never, never!” said the little wooden horse, and he sounded perfectly satisfied.
It had been a lovely flight. Twice in his life he had soared in the sky, and seen the earth like a carpet spread out below him, but his wooden wheels were not made for sweeping the stars, and he was glad to be down on the earth again.
They decided to spend the night just where they were, and after a little searching they discovered a tree with branches that gave them protection like a kind of tent.
They were just settling down to sleep until the morning when a movement in the branches above them caught their attention.
Not ten feet above their heads sat the owl!
20 GOING HOME [Êàðòèíêà: i_040.jpg]
It WAS THE SAME OWL that had brought Sootica’s message to Gobbolino. He recognized it at once.
The owl made no sign of recognition, but it stared and stared at Gobbolino with its golden eyes, till, finding itself an object of curiosity to the pair of them, it turned its back, but before long it was twisting its head round on its shoulder and staring at them again.
“Oh, Owl! Owl!” Gobbolino cried. “If you are the same owl, and I know you are, will you please take a message back to our homes in the forest? Oh please, please do!”
The owl immediately rose several feet into the air on wide, soft wings, and came down facing them again. It ducked its head forward, and appeared perfectly willing to be made use of.
Gobbolino looked frantically for something that would do to write a message on, and finally a wide leaf beside the stream seemed large and strong enough to serve for a writing pad. The little wooden horse fetched another.
Side by side on a flat stone Gobbolino scratched the words on each leaf with his sharpest claw:
“WE ARE COMING HOME!”
The owl stretched out its head, flew down, and with a gentle beak received both the messages, transferring them to its powerful claws. Then, without a word, it flew off into the darkness, leaving Gobbolino and the little wooden horse greatly comforted. They lay down side by side and slept till morning.
As the sun rose they saw that the owl was back again. He looked very tired, and he was fast asleep with his head tucked underneath his wing.
Before leaving, they thanked and embraced him.
The owl did not open his eyes, but they felt by the fluffing of his feathers that he was pleased by their gratitude.
Far, far away across the plain behind them the pale blue outline of the Hurricane Mountains seemed a hundred years ago, soon to be swallowed up by the trees of the forest.
They were going home!
Steadily silently walking on soft needles instead of stones, they padded on their way, hardly talking now, because their thoughts were all of home.
They knew that they would miss their close companionship when the time came to part. They had not been friends and gone through so many adventures together for nothing. Gobbolino would never forget the loyalty and courage of his friend, the little wooden horse, who had dared so much for him, and risked losing his own life for Gobbolino’s sake.
But although the forest was wide, they did not live so very far from one another, and surely there would be days when they could meet and talk over their adventures? Surely the farm children would welcome the little wooden horse with great joy and delight in the farm kitchen? And perhaps Uncle Peder and his wife would be glad to see Gobbolino at their home in the forest when he came to call?
The thought of home was warm and comforting all through the long days travelling, when the forest trees seemed never ending, and the path was so full of turnings and corners it seemed that it would never arrive anywhere at all.
As morning merged into afternoon and afternoon into twilight they began to think they would have to spend yet another night sleeping out of doors.
In spite of the soft ground their paws and wheels were sore and very weary, and they were walking more and more slowly when far away through the forest a sound made their ears prick, and they stopped all of a sudden in their tracks.
This time it was not the cry of hounds, nor the twittering of bats, nor the far-off, familiar shrieking of the witch. It was music… children’s voices singing in the twilight… singing bravely and loudly to banish the terrors of the darkness, and with them a deeper, bolder voice was joining in the chorus to cheer them on.
Gobbolino gave a little miaow of excitement, while the wooden horse bounded forward with a whinny of joy.
Down the darkening path they galloped, never stopping for a moment until they were in the loving arms of the farm children, who, hand in hand with Uncle Peder, had braved the dark night and the shadows to come and meet them and take them home.