"Couldn't you save him, Sanang?" she cried. "O, Sanang, he's so young, and he set out to come to us. Couldn't you save him?"
"Well, I might." Sanang was not pleased. "It'll be a while before the shadow comes out of him. But it would be rare sport to watch and see the warlocks and the ghouls and the goblins set on it the way terriers do be setting on an otter."
"Oh, save him, Sanang! Save him!"
"Now, Golden Bells, I might be able to save him, and again I mightn't."
"Save him, Sanang!" Li Po broke in. "Save him the way the wee one wants. For if you don't, Sanang, I'll write a song about you that'll be remembered for generations, and they'll point out your grandchildren and your grandchildren's grandchildren, and they'll laugh and sing Li Po's song:
"'There was a fat worm who considered himself a serpent—'"
"Oh, now, Li Po, for God's sake, let you not be composing poems on me, for 'tis you have the bitter tongue. Promise me now, and I'll save him. We'll send for the keeper of the khan's drums."
And they sent for the keeper, and Sanang gave a message to be put on the Speaking Drums.
"Let you now," he told his helper, "get me the Distant Ears."
And the helper brought him the Golden Ears, which were the like of a great bird's wings, and he put them on his head and he listened.