So mingled the feathered multitude in the grim game of war.

It was a storm in which the wind was birds, and the sea men.

And ever as each bird arrived at the rear of the enemy, it turned, ascended, and sped to the front to charge again.
The moment the battle began, the princess's pony took fright, and turned and fled.

But the maid wheeled her horse across the road and stopped him; and they waited together the result of the battle.
And as they waited, it seemed to the princess right strange that the pigeons, every one as it came to the rear, and fetched a compass to gather force for the reattack, should make the head of her attendant on the red horse the goal around which it turned; so that about them was an unintermittent flapping and flashing of wings, and a curving, sweeping torrent of the side-poised wheeling bodies of birds.

Strange also it seemed that the maid should be constantly waving her arm toward the battle.