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Updated: May 7, 2025
Night had fallen; the wolves were howling in the hills and the terrified sheep crowding about Haita's feet. In the demands of the hour he forgot his disappointment, drove his sheep to the fold and repairing to the place of worship poured out his heart in gratitude to Hastur for permitting him to save his flock, then retired to his cave and slept.
"My son," said the hermit from his couch of straw, freshly gathered that morning by Haita's hands, "it is not like thee to weep for bears tell me what sorrow hath befallen thee, that age may minister to the hurts of youth with such balms as it hath of its wisdom." Haita told him all: how thrice he had met the radiant maid, and thrice she had left him forlorn.
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