I shut my eyes, bemused, and think of a bygone merry-making; and I remember that I once saw, at the end of a hunt, against the operatic background of a forest, a child-animal whose life gushed out amid general delight.
A voice is speaking beside me.
No doubt the moon has come out--I cannot see as high as the cloud escarpments, as high as the sky's opening.

But that blenching light is making the corpses shine like tombstones.
I try to find the low voice.

There are two bodies, one above the other.

The one underneath must be gigantic--his arms are thrown backward in a hurricane gesture; his stiff, disheveled hair has crowned him with a broken crown.

His eyes are opaque and glaucous, like two expectorations, and his stillness is greater than anything one may dream of.