In the distance a tiny village could be seen, hidden amongst thick shrubs and trees; but the peasants explained it was not their home; they still had far to go, so they meant to stop here for the night, sleeping either in the ditch among the dusty flowers or upon their loads of hay.
They kindly proposed that Eric should remain with them and rest beside their carts, which he agreed to do; but before settling down for the night he felt inclined to wander through the wood and to discover what lay beyond.
The peasants had suddenly espied the wonderful sword that hung from his belt, and they would not let him go before they had handled it in turns.
For a moment they dropped their calm in loud exclamations of approval, and stood around him as he let the blade flash in the sinking light.
Then he moved away, and soon was lost among the oaks of the wood that spread their branches over his head. Through their thick trunks the setting sun could be seen turning the sky into a burning furnace, and one side of every trunk seemed glowing hot as the fiery rays smote upon it.
A thick carpet of green spread beneath his feet, and innumerable birds sang amongst the trees as he passed. The wood was small, and before long Eric had reached the farther side.
In front of him stretched the broad bed of a river, now almost dry; but in several places the water flowed calmly along in separate streams.
The banks were bordered with grey-green willows and on the small islands in the river's bed the same trees thickly grew. The water was dyed red by the sinking sun, and each stone shone like a jewel, as if some wasteful king had cast all his treasure away.
There, where the river was dry, Eric perceived a group of small brown tents, like giant withered leaves, that the parting sun was turning into every shade of rust and orange.
Little columns of smoke mounted into the air on all sides, throwing their blue veil of filmy vapour over the bushes in the background.