Pran responded to this by lifting an eyebrow. ‘By this, I assume you refer to the fact that the amount of goods carried on those wagons is greatly disproportionate to the number of dwellings you have seen thus far. In this you are correct. But have you forgotten the bridge?’
‘I hadn’t,’ Doc replied, ‘but the road on the other side didn’t appear to me to be that well-used. The wheel-ruts are shallow, and it looked pretty much overgrown.’
‘Ah, of course,’ Pran said in comprehension. ‘Having lived here most of my life, I take such things for granted. That road is paved, beneath, and doesn’t show the passage of traffic. By whom, no one living knows. It is of the same workmanship as the bridge on the river Mirrow. If the workmanship is Elvish, then it is the work of forebears unknown or unrelated to us.’
The road and river began to wind as they got into hillier country, and many of the low hillsides were well cultivated. Flocks of sheep and herds of cows were more frequent, tended by hearders, usually children, carrying long switches, sometimes aided by two or three wolf-like dogs that seemed to miss nothing in their cavorting vigilance. Twice they had to stop as small children herded flocks of very large, orange-footed grey and white geese across the road, honking and strutting their indignance.