'Behold,thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth: and from thy face shall I be hid: and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth.'

That night, I searched the guardsmen's dwellings. This revealed no letters or documents of any kind. Their clothing had upon it a crest, of a golden leopard upon a field of white lilies, which I supposed was that of their lord. From their tongue I had guessed their native land was Ffrainc, so there I would travel first. I did approach the pile of silvery bonds within the ruined cell, but something about them repelled me, so I committed to memory a few of the engraved words they bore, and left them where they lay, for the rats and mice to play upon. Also my search confirmed what I had thought I remembered. The guards had possessed a small boat, scarcely more than a corwg, from which they had fished. This would suffice for me to leave the island. Remembering the burning pain of the sunlight upon my flesh, and also my stupor during the day, I gathered all the large pieces of cloth I could find among the huts, lying piece atop piece to form a thick coverlet which I placed in the boat. If I had not found land by dawn, I thought I could shield myself with this, and so remain safe until I woke again.

As I returned from the encampment I planned my journey. Once I had reached the mainland of Cymru, I could reach the port of Abertawe. There I would hide aboard a ship travelling to one of the greater ports, Aberplymm perhaps, one that traded with many countries. I could listen at the docks until I heard the crew of a ship speaking Ffrangeg. With my new gifts, I was sure I could hide aboard such a ship until it reached Y Fffrainc, where I could begin to seek the meaning of my path. Bearing in mind the edicts of Dewi Sant, I planned to take little with me. The small crucifix I always bore. The robes and sandals I usually wore would suffice for clothing. To these I added the Abbot's gifted Bible and a strong staff and knife for tools. Considering my own changed nature, I would take no provisions – the creature I was now could not use them. I would have to find sustenance as I travelled, but did not wish to think on this, and so deliberately sought distraction in my new senses as I walked, gazing about me, drinking in the sight of the familiar trees and hills made all anew. Though the night sky was veiled with cloud, still I saw as though it was day. What would have been the deepest shadows to my eye but three days ago were now only dappled shade. Still, these marvels did not dislodge a heaviness that settled in my heart, which grew greater as I returned to my home.

Then, I tidied the dwelling, setting each thing aside for the last time. The tools and utensils I had, I stored carefully inside. This hut was small, but stoutly built, and would keep all dry, perchance someone would come here in the future, seeking the same solitude and peace I had had. I could leave them these things to be of use. I gently folded away the vestments of Mass in order: amice, alb, stole, maniple, cincture, chasuble. Wrapped in cloth. they would be an insignificant burden, and I could not bring myself to leave them behind, though I hoped I would find churches upon my journey in which I might celebrate Mass at the hands of another Priest. Finally on the alter I laid the paten and ciborium, leaving all in order. There I spent the remainder of the night in prayer, humbling my disobedient reluctance before God's will. It was not my place to doubt, or to chafe under this yoke, but in humility to follow the path I had been given. All too soon it seemed, a familiar chill lethargy began to seep through me, heralding the sunrise that I could not remain awake to see. Slowly I rose and left the Presence, to stumble to my bed and fall insensible till dusk.

As soon as I arose, I undertook Vespers. Though this was a little late for the hour, I thought that if the Lord would have me wake at dusk, then I would take that to be the start of His day and make reverence accordingly. To do otherwise would lessen the times of prayer I should observe, though I could not follow the daylight prayers at their proper times. Immediately afterwards, I gathered my bundle and set out for the boat. It would not aid me to linger in idle regret, and I would need all the short hours of the night to travel in. I did not look back.

The boat lay where I had left it, and it took little time to ready it. It was light, and easy to move. As I pushed the small craft down to the sea, I could not deny my sadness that I was leaving this place that I had loved. I had wished nothing more than for my bones to lie here at the end of a life of devotion, but now I was dedicated to another end, and so must obey, though my hearts desire lay elsewhere. The sand and shingle ground against the skin of the boat, I felt the vibration through my hands as I pushed. The water drew nearer, and the sea-smell came strongly now. I turned to look for the last time at the land while I still stood upon it. A pang pierced my heart. Dumbly, I stooped and gathered up a double handful of sand. If I must leave here, and forever carry hiraeth within me, then I would also carry some small piece of Ynys Wintog, a reminder of the peace that I had known. My tears fell black and bloody upon the sand in my hands. This would be a reminder to me that God's will must always be followed, though He asks that you forsake the earthly things you love.

I cut a piece from the pile of cloth in the boat and knotted the sand within it, then turned my back and pushed the corwg forward. I scrambled clumsily into it as it floated free of the land, feeling it writhe beneath me. It had been seven years since I had travelled with the fishermen, and I had forgotten the uneasy feel of a boat shifting in the water. My robe wet to the knees, I settled, careful not to upset the craft's balance, and cautiously tried the oars. At first, I had little success, lacking skill or knowledge, and turned about and about. In bitter amusement at my ability, I wondered if I would even be able to leave the coast. However, as I continued my attempts, I learned somewhat how to move. With more strength given to one side than the other I could turn in the direction I wished. Soon I could direct myself away from the land and roughly towards the East, keeping the rising moon behind me as a guide. My future and purpose behind me, and my past life in front of me, the humped shape of Ynys Wintog dwindled slowly as the boat rocked forward through the sea. The light and shade of the woods and hills grew less distinct, blurred, separated from me by the growing expanse of glistening silver water. I watched as I rowed, the island diminishing to a small eyot on the horizon, and then to nothing, even the keenness of my sight could see it no more.

Through the night I rowed. I was accustomed to labour but not of this kind, and thought that I would begin to feel tired in my arms and shoulders after some hours. However, to my surprise, this did not happen. Even after the middle of the night had passed, I was able to give the same strength to each sweep of the oars as when I had first begun. I wondered at my new endurance – this, I thought, must be another gift of my transformation. However, the oar handles began to chafe at my hands, and this, together with the seawater started blisters which grew, and stung fiercely with the salt when they burst. I found this reassuring. I could still feel the pain of ordinary things, however else I was different. I paused to bind my hands with roughly pulled pieces of cloth from my pile, then continued on, trying to navigate by the moon, which now stood in mid-sky. I hoped that I might reach land before dawn, though I could not reckon how fast I might be travelling. Wisps of cloud moved lazily across the stars, each casting many faint overlapping shadows over the water. Each wave had its own voice in the great whisper of sea-sound around me, over which I heard distinctly the rub of each oar, the drops of water falling from them with every stroke, each tiny splash sounding a subtly different pitch. I saw swarms of light under the water, not the reflected light of the stars, but smaller luminescences that darted and changed course, each one in absolute harmony with the motion of its brothers. I smelled the wild bitter smell of the open sea, which is not leavened by any growing thing, but purifies in its barrenness, as salt purifies. So I travelled, in solitude but not alone.

Later, I became aware that the sky was lightening. Though the sun had not yet risen, I knew it would not be long in coming. Glancing over my shoulder I saw a dark line of land on the horizon, easy to discern against the brightness of the immanent dawn, but very far away. I tried to row more strongly, but after a while I knew that I could not reach the shore in time. Faced with what I had feared, I became calm. I had done all I could, and now it would be for the Lord to decide my fate. The light in the east grew and changed, grey-rose and cerise becoming blazing red-gold. It would be but moments before the first thin crescent of the sun crested the hills of the mainland. I dearly wished to see a sunrise once more, but I remembered the prisoner's end, and my own searing pain at that time. I would be helplessly exposed to the sun as I fell asleep, and already I felt my strength and senses fading. With febrile motions I fumbled the coverlet over myself, making sure I was shrouded completely before surrendering to my weakness.

I awoke to the gloom of dusk's light filtered through layers of thick cloth. I felt no pain, and moved to uncover myself, the boat feeling wrong under me as I did so. I lifted the cloth and looked out, and saw why. I was no longer afloat, at some time during the day the wind and tide had carried the corwg to shore, and left it there aground on a broad shallow expanse of sand. I thanked the Lord for His care and protection, for surely he had sent an angel to watch over me and guide my craft to this safe place. I was now sure that by travelling to find out more of the prisoner, I was following God's will. I climbed out of the boat and gathered my small bundle. The pile of cloth I could not carry, so I left it there, I would have to find new shelter each dawn as I travelled. The ebbing tide had left a wrinkled maze of channels of shallow water, through which I easily strode to shore. Once on dry land I paused for a brief observance of vespers, then looked up and down the coast. Though I had never travelled far from my home village, I knew that the port of Abertawe was far in the south o Gymru. From the broad character of the bay my boat had come to rest in, I thought it had come to shore near Lanbedyr, in Sir Feirioneyyd where the land swept inward in a great curve. If I set my right shoulder to the sea, and followed the coast, I would be travelling south, and eventually would be sure to find some village from which I could find a road to follow. I picked up my staff and bundle to start walking and then set them down again. My hands did not hurt. Unwrapping the bindings I had made yesterday, I looked at my palms. The flesh of my hands was exactly as it was before I had set myself on the sea. All signs of the raw places and blisters of yesterday were gone, not even scars remained to show where they had been. They had healed completely while I slept. Truly God had changed me in a way that fitted me for this journey, so I could make good speed on His errand. Rejoicing, I remembered the 18th psalm, and spoke it aloud as I set out along the shore.

'He sent from above, he took me, he drew me out of many waters.. '

As I walked, I took pleasure in my new awareness of all things about me. The shoreline rose to meet thick woodland, and I made my way through into the deeper part of this where the going was easier, between great oak trees hung with lichen. Though the birds of the day now slept, many things moved at night, and these I listened to. The chirps of night crickets buzzed through the woods, and often I heard the wing beats and high cries of hunting bats. I smelled the strong tang of a fox which had passed ahead of me not long before, and knew the sound of a pair of badgers wrestling in the bracken on my left over the prize of a hedge-pig. The hard rounds of acorns rolled under my sandals. Tiny grey moths whirred up from nearby leaves, disturbed by my passage. I was surrounded by motion and sound, almost overwhelmed by my own sense of the forest.

As I travelled on, I felt a kind of keenness rising in me in response to the sounds of life about me. I recognised it with reluctance. I knew it for the same desire I had felt before I had killed Y Fritheg. I needed to feed, and it would be blood that I would be drinking. I had shied away from thinking of this aspect of my new nature, but now I must consider it. I walked on, my staff aiding me on the uneven ground, the keenness within me taking a different interest in the forest noises, listening for the sounds of larger animals. Moving towards a rustling sound I discovered what I both sought and did not wish to find, food. A mud-covered boar, rooting through the litter under the trees. At the sight of it, I drew closer without thinking, the feeling within me rising to half whetted appetite, and half focused attention. As I realised this I resisted, fighting the compulsion, and turned away. I would choose when and where I would feed, and I would learn to control this desire, else I would not be able to walk among people without endangering them. The feeling did not fade as I forced myself away, but neither was it irresistible. I could leave the animal and move onward, against the impulse to return. Though it was not a sensation like the hunger I had felt before my change, mayhap I could use my will against it as I had done in my fasting, and in the other austerities I had practised.
Throughout the night I travelled through the dense forest, turning away from any creature I came across, forging further south until the greying sky warned me to seek shelter. I searched about me for such as I walked, finally settling for a depression against the side of a fallen tree. I dug out the leaves until I had made a hollow partly under the trunk, then broke green branches until I had a pile large enough to cover me. This should protect me from any light that filtered down through the great trees. As I lay down and pulled the fresh boughs over me I found my thoughts turning to the prisoner. As if he were again before me I saw his face, rueful yet calm, the blue-green eyes fixed upon mine, that single phrase sounding in my mind. Softly I tried to speak it, the sounds within it unlike any I knew from either Cymreig or Latin. The syllables faded through my thoughts like smoke.

The next evening as I came to myself, I felt the desire for blood in me as soon as I awoke. It seeped through me like slow water, forcing me to set my entire will on my prayers. It drove a brittle acuteness into my senses, making my ears hollow for sound, my eyes wide for sight. I could not walk in peace, as I started toward each sound that might mean food. I moved further along the coast, making my way through the thinning woodland which was slowly changing in nature as it rose into the hills, becoming mere clumps of trees among grassy areas. In one of these, I heard rustling, and bleating. A half-wild sheep, caught by its fleece in brambles. Surely this was intended for me as a sign I should feed. The hunger crawled in me. Still, I hesitated. My spirit was repelled by what my body urged me to do, and yet I must feed eventually, or die. Should I spurn the gift given to me? Well, I resolved, if I must do this, I will not feed like an animal that strikes without thinking. The Lord has provided food, and I will be thankful, as any man of faith should be thankful for their bread.

Moving quietly, I approached the beast, which tried vainly to flee from me, white-eyed and thrashing in the brambles. Gently I placed my arm round its neck. The glowing heat of its body beat into my skin. I contained the hunger, and forced myself to remain still, holding the animal while I spoke the blessing for the evening meal. I did not hurry over the words, and gripped the dark urge to feed in my will as I held the beast in my grasp. Only when I was sure that I was acting from my own decision did I bend, and bite, knowing artlessly just where the hot panicked pulse beat closest to the skin. My teeth tore open the flesh without effort. Then, against all my resolve, self-restraint shattered against the pleasure of the bloody taste, and I gorged, gulping urgently as fast as the flow poured into my mouth. Again, I came to myself holding a dead creature, again shamed that I had surrendered so to fleshly desire.

Letting the beast fall from me I moved away. The brambles gave me deep cuts on my arms and legs, which stung, but did not bleed. Though ashamed, I thanked the Lord for the gift and begged His forgiveness for my weakness. Though I had succumbed to the lust this time, with God's aid I would try further to master this need. My head clearer, I moved on to travel more peacefully for the rest of that night.

So I walked, and slept, and walked again for many nights. The weather was largely clement, and I could not lose my way so long as I cleft to the sight of the sea. Across woodland, and marshland and fair grassy hills I passed. As I travelled, other changes in my body became apparent to me. I felt no cold, my fingers not numbing even in the strong winds and icy rain that came sometimes, and any small injury I suffered healed as I slept. The biting lice no longer troubled me, and my new found endurance let me walk strongly over the miles without slackening my pace from nightfall to dawn. As a boy I had often wished to catch small beasts (as boys do), and oft-times failed, defeated by their speed and keen senses. Those idle dreams of my youth I recalled now, as I found that when I hungered, I was now as fast as any beast, able to grasp a rabbit on the instant it startled away from me, or leap to catch a young deer.

Though the moment of feeding always filled me with unwonted pleasure, and though I was not yet able to refrain from killing, I learned some measure of control over the desire for blood, which gave me hope that once I came again among people I would not strike at them unthinking from base need. As if in recompense for this care, I found I was freed now of bodily lust, never waking in shame. My new senses did not dull with the passing days, if anything growing more acute, revealing the beauty of the land I passed through in testament to the art of the Creator's hand. Often the words of the 139th psalm came to me as I walked. Truly I was fearfully and wonderfully made. Often also, I recalled the face and voice of the prisoner as I found shelter at dawn and wondered what his message could mean.

One night I passed from the wild lands back into the habitations of man. I crossed a small coppice cut into the marge of the forest, then found myself among hedged pasture. The smells of cattle, dung and wood smoke came clearly to me. I must be coming close to a small town or village. I paused in my stride. There would be a church there, and I could pray once more toward an alter within a place dedicated to God, but I was uneasy. What would happen should I meet someone? Then I chided myself for my fear. My intent was to travel to a great port, with many people there. So I must know myself, and see if I was able to walk among men if I were to do this. I had fed the previous night, so I was as prepared as I might be.