And at last the skin was worn quite away from his forehead with carrying of tent-skins up on to the shore in vain.[2]
One day they were lying-to, when a wind began to blow from the north.
“Are there dogs here?” asked the old man, and groaned, for his forehead was flayed and smarting, so often had he borne those tent-skins up and down. But before any could answer, he heard the barking of the dogs themselves. And in a moment he was back in his boat again.
The wind had grown stronger. The seas were frothing white, and the foam was scattered about.
Then the old dwarf stood up in his boat and cried:
“The sky is clearing to the east with crested clouds.”
Now this was a magic song, and as soon as he had sung it, the sea was calm and bright once more.
Then the old man went on again. So great was the power of his magic words that he could calm the sea. But for all that he had no peace, by reason of the dogs.
And he went on his way again, but whither he came at last I do not know.