YORUL [In scorn.] Desert My lord! His liegeman, I a traitor!
FRIDA Look. [She brushes back the ashes, revealing the beast’s head.]
YORUL The wolf! By heaven, dead! What—you killed him?
FRIDA No.
YORUL And flayed, the very brute! Here are the marks Of Ingimund, his spear. Saw you the beast Alive?
FRIDA Yes.
YORUL Here?
FRIDA I watched it limping here, Wounded, from out the forest.
YORUL Ha! I said so. Here to the very door-sill?
FRIDA Yes; it pushed The door ajar.