Why call ye the words of my name?"
"Thy feet stay with patience, grandfather;
We are small, but we joy in thy fury,
Whence we yearn for thy counsel and spirit;
For we long to smite foes from the pathways
As thou canst the trees from the highlands."
"Being so, it is well," said the ancient.
Lo! the seed-stuff of hail, bound with treasure,
Gleamed with ice from the breath of his answer.
When they named the next name of the song strand,