"The three best horses for me, Horus, and Kaschta; the rest remain here." As the red-bearded soldier led the horses forward, the moon shone forth, and within an hour the travellers had reached the plain; they sprang on to the beasts and rode madly on towards the lake, which, when the sun rose, gleamed before them in silvery green.

As they drew near to it they could discern, on its treeless western shore, black masses moving hither and thither; clouds of dust rose up from the plain, pierced by flashes of light, like the rays of the sun reflected from a moving mirror.
"The battle is begun!" cried Horus; and he fell sobbing on his horse's neck.
"But all is not lost yet!" exclaimed the poet, spurring his horse to a final effort of strength.

His companions did the same, but first Kaschta's horse fell under him, then Horus's broke down.
"Help may be given by the left wing!" cried Horus.

"I will run as fast as I can on foot, I know where to find them.

You will easily find the king if you follow the stream to the stone bridge.