Goha made a bed of dry grass and willow leaves, hidden among the thickets like a hare’s form, and rolled the child up in a blanket on it. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘you’re a cocoon. In the morning you’ll be a butterfly and hatch out.’ She lighted no fire, but lay in her cloak beside the child and watched the stars shine one by one and listened to what the stream said quietly, until she slept.
