"I choose, then, the oak forest, with quiet hill and dale, where, if you come upon sprites, the worst will be some gentle swan-maiden, combing her hair by the brookside."
"Or a werwolf lurking in the gloom to seize the unwary hunter."
"Well cast! But I 've yet to see either swan-maiden or werwolf; whereas your crag-fiends that mock with witless mimicry--ay! and peer down from the cliff brink-- Look, brother!"
"Thor! that's no fiend. A Saracen without turban!"
"Saracen? How should they--"
"An onfall! Look ahead!"
"A wall--the gorge is walled!"
"And beyond--black banners! By Loki, the poisoner has snared us! Now are we fated, brother! From the heights men will cast down rocks."
"God help us! We cannot stand; nor, with foes on the cliff, can we cross that wall."
"Sound your horn. To turn back may alone save us."