Tharmia:
It is of no use. Her nerves are all a-quiver. She weeps if you speak with her. If you argue a matter with her she cries aloud and maidens must come and fan her and put scent on her hands.
Arolind:
She never leaves her chamber and the King would not listen to her.
Tharmia:
Hark, they are coming back. They are singing a hunting song…. why, they have killed a beast. All four of the men are bringing it on two branches.
Arolind: [bored]
What kind of beast is it?
Tharmia:
I do not know. It seems to have barbed horns.