| Targh was a young boy of no more than five summers, which is to say he was very much like young boys had ever been before him, or are likely ever to be again while the ages continue to turn. One fine morning, at the time of the year when the breezes shift from northeast to southwest and begin to warm, he was playing in the shallows on the south coast of Ynys Mawr, where there has ever been open water rather than marsh. His father, Caddoc, was repairing a fishing net in the bright sun, so Targh was left to his own explorations, as long as he did not wade out above his knees, or wander from his father's sight. So it was that in a small inlet, among a very small stand of cattails, young Targh found something quite big, and very green . . . |
