Behind a scudding wind-torn cloud.
(a wind-torn shroud)
She wraps herself in its embrace
As in a tattered cloak.
(a shadow cloak)
The wind is wailing in the trees.
Their limbs are warped and bent and bowed.
(so bleak and cowed)
I stand within my circle now
To deal with what I woke.
(I wake—I see, but not yet free.)
A wanderer of wizard kind
I was, until a month ago
(so well I know)
The headman of this village came
And begged that I should stay.
(so cold and fey)
"For since our wizard died," he said
"And why he died we do not know—
(so long ago!)
We have no one to weave us spells
And keep the Dark at bay."
(the dark, so deep: so cold the sleep)
"His house and books are yours, milady,