And the Wanderers were a weird, dark tribe, that once in every seven years came down from the peaks of Mloon, having crossed by a pass that is known to them from some fantastic land that lies beyond.  And the people of Nen were all outside their houses, and all stood wondering at their own streets.  For the men and women of the Wanderers had crowded all the ways, and every one was doing some strange thing.  Some danced astounding dances that they had learned from the desert wind, rapidly curving and swirling till the eye could follow no longer.  Others played upon instruments beautiful wailing tunes that were full of horror, which souls had taught them lost by night in the desert, that strange far desert from which the Wanderers came.

None of their instruments were such as were known in Nen nor in any part of the region of the Yann; even the horns out of which some were made were of beasts that none had seen along the river, for they were barbed at the tips.  And they sang, in the language of none, songs that seemed to be akin to the mysteries of night and to the unreasoned fear that haunts dark places.

Bitterly all the dogs of Nen distrusted them.  And the Wanderers told one another fearful tales; for though no one in Nen knew ought of their language yet they could see the fear on the listeners’ faces, and as the tale wound on the whites of their eyes showed vividly in terror as the eyes of some little beast whom the hawk has seized.  Then the teller of the tale would smile and stop, and another would tell his story, and the teller of the first tale’s lips would chatter with fear.  And if some deadly snake chanced to appear the Wanderers would greet him as a brother, and the snake would seem to give his greetings to them before he passed on again.  Once that most fierce and lethal of tropic snakes, the giant lythra, came out of the jungle and all down the street, the central street of Nen, and none of the Wanderers moved away from him, but they all played sonorously on drums, as though he had been a person of much honour; and the snake moved through the midst of them and smote none.

Even the Wanderers’ children could do strange things, for if any one of them met with a child of Nen the two would stare at each other in silence with large grave eyes; then the Wanderer’s child would slowly draw from his turban a live fish or snake.  And the children of Nen could do nothing of that kind at all.

Much I should have wished to stay and hear the hymn with which they greet the night, that is answered by the wolves on the heights of Mloon, but it was now time to raise the anchor again that the captain might return from Bar-Wul-Yann upon the landward tide.  So we went on board and continued down the Yann.  And the captain and I spoke little, for we were thinking of our parting, which should be for long, and we watched instead the splendour of the westering sun.  For the sun was a ruddy gold, but a faint mist cloaked the jungle, lying low, and into it poured the smoke of the little jungle cities; and the smoke of them met together in the mist and joined into one haze, which became purple, and was lit by the sun, as the thoughts of men become hallowed by some great and sacred thing.  Sometimes one column from a lonely house would rise up higher than the cities’ smoke, and gleam by itself in the sun.