There was he who bore a name great from of
old, Folk-wolf to wit, bearing on his shield the axe of the hewer.
There they hung, dusty, befouled, with sightless eyes and grinning
mouths, in the dimmed sunlight of the Hall, before the eyes of that
victorious Host, stricken silent at the sight of them.
Underneath them on the dais stood the last remnant of the battle of
the Dusky Men; and they, as men mad with coming death, shook their
weapons, and with shrieking laughter mocked at the overcomers, and
pointed to the long-dead chiefs, and called on them in the tongue of
the kindreds to come down and lead their dear kinsmen to the high-
seat; and then they cried out to the living warriors of the Wolf, and
bade them better their deed of slaying, and set to work to make alive
again, and cause their kinsmen to live merry on the earth.
With that last mock they handled their weapons and rushed howling on
the warriors to meet their death; nor was it long denied them; for
the sword of the Wolf, the axe of the Woodland, and the spear of the
Dale soon made an end of the dreadful lives of these destroyers of
the Folks.
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