Where it had been lay scorched rags of cloth and leather, and other things.
“Come away,” Ged said.
But the woman and the child stood and looked at those things.
“They are bone people,” Therru said. She turned away then and set off. She went ahead of the man and woman along the narrow path.
“Her native tongue,” Ged said. “Her mother tongue.”
“Tehanu,” said Tenar. “Her name is Tehanu.”
“She has been given it by the giver of names.
“She has been Tehanu since the beginning. Always, she has been Tehanu. “
“Come on!” the child said, looking back at them. “Aunty Moss is sick.”
They were able to move Moss out into the light and air, to wash her sores, and to burn the foul linens of her bed, while Therru brought clean bedding from Ogion’s house. She also brought Heather the goatgirl back with her. With Heather’s help they got the old woman comfortable in her bed, with her chickens; and Heather promised to come back with something for them to eat.
“Someone must go down to Gont Port,” Ged said, “for the wizard there. To look after Moss; she can be healed.
And to go to the manor house. The old man will die now. The grandson might live, if the house is made clean He had sat down on the doorstep of Moss’s house. He leaned his head back against the doorjamb, in the sunlight, and closed his eyes. “Why do we do what we do?” he said.
Tenar was washing her face and hands and arms in a basin of clear water she had drawn from the pump. She looked round when she was done. Utterly spent, Ged had fallen asleep, his face a little upturned to the morning light. She sat down beside him on the doorstep and laid her head against his shoulder. Are we spared? she thought. How is it we are spared?
She looked down at Ged’s hand, relaxed and open on the earthen step. She thought of the thistle that nodded in the wind, and of the taloned foot of the dragon with its scales of red and gold. She was half-asleep when the child sat down beside her.
“Tehanu,” she murmured.
“The little tree died,” the child said.
After a while Tenar’s weary, sleepy mind understood, and woke up enough to make a reply. “Are there peaches on the old tree?”
They spoke low, not to waken the sleeping man. “Only little green ones.”
“They’ll ripen, after the Long Dance. Soon now. “Can we plant one?”
“More than one, if you like. Is the house all right?”
“It’s empty.”
“Shall we live there?” She roused a little more, and put her arm around the child. “I have money,” she said, “enough to buy a herd of goats, and Turby’s winter-pasture, if it’s still for sale. Ged knows where to take them up the mountain, summers. . . . I wonder if the wool we combed is still there?” So saying, she thought, We left the books, Ogion’s books! On the mantel at Oak Farm-for Spark, poor boy, he can’t read a word of them!
But it did not seem to matter. There were new things to be learned, no doubt. And she could send somebody for the books, if Ged wanted them. And for her spinning wheel. Or she could go down herself, come autumn, and see her son, and visit with Lark, and stay a while with Apple. They would have to replant Ogion’s garden right away if they wanted any vegetables of their own this summer. She thought of the rows of beans and the scent of the bean flowers. She thought of the small window that looked west. “I think we can live there,” she said.