"It is a maid," shouted another.
"She does not greet us." They ran to help her from her horse, shouting their war-cry as they went, and returned supporting Sieglinde, while they surrounded Brünnhilde and questioned her wildly.
"Shield us!" she cried to them. "I am pursued. The war-father is coming after me. He is foaming with rage. Hide us, shield us." All looked at her in consternation.
"What hast thou done?" they questioned.
"Who can shield thee from our father's wrath, Brünnhilde?" one cried.
"I see him not," one who was on the look-out called. "But a fearful storm gathers."
"It is Wotan. Our father rides upon the storm. Oh, shield this poor wife," Brünnhilde called.
"Alas! the storm increases."
"Then he is near. His anger increases as he comes," Brünnhilde cried in terror. "Now who will lend me a horse to put this poor wife upon?" None dared brave the wrath of the God.
"All of you are silent," she said at last, in despair. Turning to the fainting Sieglinde, she cried: