‘A dragon! Another dragon!’ was Thol’s burthen.
People gathered round him in deep wonder and agitation. He told them, in gasps, that he had come down early—very early—to look for mushrooms—and had looked back and—seen a dragon crawling up the hill. He said that he had seen it only for a moment or two: it crawled very quickly—far more quickly than the old one. He added that it was rather smaller than the old one—smaller and yet far more terrible, though its smoke was less black. Also, that it held high its head, not scorching the grass on its way.
There was no panic.
‘O Thol,’ said one, ‘we need not fear the dragon, for here are you, to come between us and him.’
‘Here by this stream,’ said another, ‘we shall presently bury him with great rejoicings, O high god.’
The crowd went down on its knees, thanking Thol in anticipation. But he, provident plodder, had foreseen what would happen, and had his words ready. ‘Nay, O homelanders,’ he said, plucking at his great beard, ‘I am less young than I was. I am heavier, and not so brave. Peradventure some younger man will dare meet this dragon for us, some day. Meanwhile, let us tempt him with the flesh of beasts, as of yore, hoping that so he will come but seldom into our midst.’
In consternation the crowd rose from its knees, and Thol walked quickly away, with a rather shambling gait.
The awful news spread apace. The valley was soon full. Long and earnestly the great throng prayed to the sun that he would call the dragon away from them. He did not so. Up, up went the steadfast smoke from within the cave. Less black it certainly was than that of the other dragon, but not less dreadful. Almost as great as the terror that it inspired was the general contempt for Thol. Many quite old men vowed to practise the needful stroke of the spear. All the youths vowed likewise—yea, and many of the maidens too. It was well-known, of course, that Thol had practised for a long while, and that any haste would be folly; but such knowledge rather heartened than dejected the vowers. Meanwhile, the thing to do was what the craven Thol had suggested before he slunk away: to offer food as of yore. Shib, bristling with precedents, organised the labour. Thol had said that the dragon was a smaller one than the other. Perhaps therefore not so much food would be needed. But it was better to be on the safe side and offer the same ration. Up to the little shelf of ground in front of the cave’s mouth were borne two goats, three ducks, two deer, three geese and two sheep.
All day long the valley was crowded with gazers, hopers, comforters of one another, offerers-up of prayers.
As day drew to its close, the tensity increased. Would this dragon wake and eat at sunset, as that other had been wont to do? How soon would appear through the smoke that glimpse of nether fire which proclaimed that his head was out of the cave, alert and active? And would that glow rise and fall, in the old way, twelve times, with the sound of the clashed jaws? What was in store for the homeland to-night?