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'Beware, and never stand still, called the brown horse, and more he could not say, for the water was choking him. The battle began anew. For a day and a night Petru fought on, without knowing at whom or what he struck. At dawn on the second, he felt that both his feet were lame. 'Now I am done for, thought he, and his blows fell thicker and harder in his desperation.
"He is sitting in the council chamber with the elders of the kingdom." "Is he prospering?" "Not especially; he has troubles." "Who is annoying him?" asked Petru, somewhat sharply. "Your brothers, Costan and Florea," the voice in the box answered. "As it seems to me, they are trying to wrest the scepter from him and the old monarch says that they are not yet worthy of it."
Nothing was left of the palace except the ground where it had stood. No trace of any human being who could have uttered a word or given any tidings was to be found. At last old Birscha came out of a ruined cellar. Petru learned what had happened and its cause, turned his bay, and went back even more swiftly than he had come.
"Get your breath now, for the battle will begin again presently," said the bay. "What was that?" asked Petru. "The Welwa," replied the horse, "the Welwa changed into fog. Get your breath, it is coming again." The bay had hardly spoken and Petru had hardly had time to breathe, when he saw approaching from one side something, but what it was he did not know.
In the evening, when the sun is getting low, and all the midges are beginning to bite, Peter saw a wide heath stretching before him. At the same instant the horse stood still of itself. 'What is the matter? asked Petru. 'I am afraid that something evil will happen to us, answered the horse. 'But why should it?
Who could tell what it was made of? It looked like soft little woolly clouds! So he stood thinking what was to be done, for get across he must. After a while, he determined to take the risk, and strode back to the sleeping giant. 'Wake up, my brave man! he cried, giving him a shake. The giant woke and stretched out his hand to pick up Petru, just as we should catch a fly.
She has owl's eyes, a fox's face, and cat's claws. Do you hear? Don't look at her. And may the Lord bring you back to me safe and sound, my son Petru." Petru thanked her for her counsel and lingered no longer. Where should he find time to gossip with old women? He left the bay horse in the meadow and continued his journey.
Nay, even the wind no longer played with the leaves, the sunbeams no longer drank the dewdrops from the grass, and the river had ceased to flow. Petru alone was awake, awake with his thoughts, and his wonder at these thoughts. He reached the court-yard of the palace. Around it stretched a thick, beautiful grass-plot a grass plot that swayed like the wind.
'Oh, do leave me in peace! But listen. Look at the flowers as much as you like, but pick none, and the horse walked on slowly. Petru knew by experience that he would do well to attend to the horse's advice, so he made a great effort and tore his mind away from the flowers. But in vain! If a man is fated to be unlucky, unlucky he will be, whatever he may do!
Yet when did the flowers bloom, if they had not yet had time to open? And, if they did not bloom, why was it? This question, and many another one, Petru asked himself on his way to the palace.
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