Up toward us the gathering mists had been steadily rising; still was their wavering crest a half score feet below us.
Abruptly out of their dim nebulosity a faintly phosphorescent square broke.

It lifted, slowly; then swept, a dully lustrous six-foot cube, up the slope and came to rest almost at our feet.

It dwelt there; contemplated us from its myriads of deep-set, sparkling striations.
In its wake swam, one by one, six others--their tops raising from the vapors like the first, watchfully; like shimmering backs of sea monsters; like turrets of fantastic angled submarines from phosphorescent seas.

One by one they skimmed swiftly over the ledge; and one by one they nestled, edge to edge and alternately, against the cube which had gone before.
In a crescent, they stretched before us.

Back from them, a pace, ten paces, twenty, we retreated.
They lay immobile--staring at us.
Cleaving the mists, silk of copper hair streaming wide, unearthly eyes lambent, floated up behind them--Norhala.