Then Face-of-god stopped perplexed with his case; for
he was on the deep snow in his skids, with his bow unbent, and he
knew not how to bend it speedily. He was loth to turn his back and
flee, and indeed he scarce deemed that it would help him. Meanwhile
of his tarrying the archer loosed again at him, and this time the
shaft flew close to his left ear. Then Face-of-god thought to cast
himself down into the snow, but he was ashamed; till there came a
third shaft which flew over his head amidmost and close to it. 'Good
shooting on the Mountain!' muttered he; 'the next shaft will be
amidst my breast, and who knows whether the Alderman's handiwork will
keep it out.'
So he cried aloud: 'Thou shootest well, brother; but art thou a foe?
If thou art, I have a sword by my side, and so hast thou; come hither
to me, and let us fight it out friendly if we must needs fight.'
A laugh came down the wind to him clear but somewhat shrill, and the
archer came swiftly towards him on his skids with no weapon in his
hand save his bow; so that Face-of-god did not draw his sword, but
stood wondering.
As they drew nearer he beheld the face of the new-comer, and deemed
that he had seen it before; and soon, for all that it was hooded
close by the ill-weather raiment, he perceived it to be the face of
Bow-may, ruddy and smiling.
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