Chapter 12Creiddylad waited in the dark cavern and time meant nothing to her. She had long ceased to look for release from the kind of non-life, non-death, in which she was encased. Twenty years or sixty, twenty centuries or sixty millennia, might have gone by— she did not know. The one small flame of hope that burned in her heart and prevented her losing her mind, was that Gwynn ap Nudd could not, in the long run, win. However much he thought he could alter the design of existence, what he would achieve would be no more than one small aberration, soon absorbed into the whole. And she, however much the darkness she was in might seem endless, knew that it yet might be no more than a small black fleck in the whole gigantic and magnificent weave.
But there was a cold shade that lurked beside
