The Elder Gods. David Eddings

then, my son, and may the spirit of Misty-Water watch over you.’

      ‘It shall be as you have said, my father,’ Longbow said quite formally. He went down through the village to the pebbled beach, pushed his canoe out from the shore, and took up his paddle to cross the choppy water to the Seagull. The village and his forest were fading behind him, but he didn’t look back.

      ‘Nice little skiff you got there, friend,’ a fellow with enormous hands observed, leaning over the rail of the Seagull.

      ‘Skiff?’ Longbow was puzzled by the word. ‘That skinny little boat you got there. It goes real fast, don’t it?’

      ‘It takes me where I want it to go.’

      ‘You want we should bring it on board?’

      ‘It might be best. I don’t know the tribe of the Seagull as yet, and if it happens that I don’t get along very well with them, I might need the canoe to take me back to where I belong.’

      The man with the big hands laughed. ‘There’s been a few times when maybe I could have used a skiff of my own for the same reason. I’ve been at sea for most of my life now, and every so often I’ve had trouble my very ownself getting along with my shipmates. You’re Longbow, aren’t you?’