d the
fires, and along the galleries above, with gleaming eyes, scores and
scores of them. And now the eagles were returning to their eyries from
their feasting in the valley, and though they swept up through the air
mewing and peering, they dared not draw near to the great blaze of fire
and torch, but screamed as they ascended, one to the other, until the
wolves took up an answer, barking hard and short, or with long mournful
ululation.

When at last they fell quiet, then the Men of the Mountains began
wailing again for their lost comrades. They sit with their eyes shut,
resting on their long narrow hands, their faces to the wall, and sing
through their noses. First one takes up a high lamentable note, then
another, and so on, faster and faster, for all the world like a faint
and distant wind in the hills, until all the voices clash together,
"Tish--naehr!" Then, in a little, breaks out the shrillest in solo
again, and so they continue till they weary.

Nod listened, his face in his hands, but so faint and fast sang the
voices he could only catch here and there the words of their drone, if
words there were. He touched Thumb's shoulder. "These hairy fellows are
singing of Tishnar!" he said.

Thumb grunted, half asleep.

"Who taught them of Tishnar?" Nod asked softly.

Thumb turned angrily over. "Oh, child!" he growled, "will you never
learn wisdom? Sleep while you can, and let Thumb sleep too! To-morrow we
may be fighting again."

But though the Ladder-mulgars soon ceased to wail, and, except for two
who were left to keep watch and to feed the fires, laid themselves down
to sleep, Nod could not rest. The mountains rose black and unutterably
still beneath the stars. Up their steep sides enormous shadows jigged
around the fires. Sometimes an eagle squawked on high, nursing its
wounds. And whether he turned this way or that way he still saw the
little wolves huddled close together, their pointed heads laid on their
lean paws, uneasily watching. And he longed for morning. For his heart
lay like a stone in him in grief for his brother Thimble. A little dry
snow harboured in the crevices of the rocks. He filled his hands with
it, and laid it on poor Thimble's head and moistened his lips. Then he
walked softly along past the sleeping Mulgars towards the fire.

Where should we all be now, he thought, if the eagles had come in the
morning? On paths narrow as those there was not even room enough to
brandish a cudgel. The