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"You begin to listen after the song is sung," he answered, peevishly. "The thing ran away as soon as you approached. It was a fox that was bloody all over." A yell of terror distended Kark's throat. "A fox!" he screeched. "My guardian spirit follows me in that shape; a foreknowing woman told me so. It is my death-omen! I am death-fated!"
Told by torchlight, at a safe distance from Leif, each boulder took on the form of a squatting dwarf; and the faint squeaking of foxes became the shrieking of spirits. The tale of the death-omen swelled to such proportions that Kark would have been terrified out of his wits if he had not rested secure in the conviction that the vision had been a wolf.
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