“Thou must not perish here in the snow before my eyes.”
“That I will not.”
“Thou must come up and sit on my horse.”
“That I will.” And all at once he started up out of the snow with surprising strength and agility, and sat on the horse behind Sintram, clasping him tight in his long arms. The horse, startled by the rattling of the bones, and as if seized with madness, rushed away through the most trackless passes. The boy soon found himself alone with his strange companion; for Rolf, breathless with fear, spurred on his horse in vain, and remained far behind them. From a snowy precipice the horse slid, without falling, into a narrow gorge, somewhat indeed exhausted, yet continuing to snort and foam as before, and still unmastered by the boy. Yet his headlong course being now changed into a rough irregular trot, Sintram was able to breathe more freely, and to begin the following discourse with his unknown companion.
“Draw thy garment closer around thee, thou pale man, so the bones will not rattle, and I shall be able to curb my horse.”
“It would be of no avail, boy; it would be of no avail. The bones must rattle.”
“Do not clasp me so tight with thy long arms, they are so cold.”
“It cannot be helped, boy; it cannot be helped. Be content. For my long cold arms are not pressing yet on thy heart.”
“Do not breathe on me so with thy icy breath. All my strength is departing.”
“I must breathe, boy; I must breathe. But do not complain. I am not blowing thee away.”