None stooped to comfort the fallen, or stepped wide to spare him.
The moon shone till the sun rose, and all the night long I had glimpses of a woman moving at her will above the strife-tormented multitude, now on this front now on that, one outstretched arm urging the fight, the other pressed against her side.

"Ye are men: slay one another!" she shouted.

I saw her dead eyes and her dark spot, and recalled what I had seen the night before.
Such was the battle of the dead, which I saw and heard as I lay under the tree.
Just before sunrise, a breeze went through the forest, and a voice cried, "Let the dead bury their dead!" At the word the contending thousands dropped noiseless, and when the sun looked in, he saw never a bone, but here and there a withered branch.
I rose and resumed my journey, through as quiet a wood as ever grew out of the quiet earth.

For the wind of the morning had ceased when the sun appeared, and the trees were silent.

Not a bird sang, not a squirrel, mouse, or weasel showed itself, not a belated moth flew athwart my path.
But as I went I kept watch over myself, nor dared let my eyes rest on any forest-shape.