I followed his pointing finger.
Into the valley from the right ran a black spur of rock, half a mile from us, fifty feet high.
Upon its crest stood--Norhala! Her arms were lifted to the sparkling sky; her braids were loosened--and as the fires of the aurora rose and fell, raced and were still, the silken cloud of her tresses swirled and eddied with them.

Little clouds of coruscations danced gaily like fireflies about and through it.
And all her bared body was outlined in living light, glowed and throbbed with light--light filled her like a vessel, she bathed in it.

She thrust arms through the streaming, flaming locks; held them out from her, prisoned.

She swayed slowly, rhythmically; like a faint, golden chiming came the echo of her song.
Abruptly around her, half circling her on the black spur, gleamed myriads of gem fires.

Flares and flames of pale emerald, steady glowing of flame rubies, glints and lambencies of deepest sapphire, of wan sapphire, flickering opalescences, irised glitterings.