Lord Hathor and his horse were slain By the traitor's hand Now in moon-dark, mist and rain His stallion strides the land. His soul is filled with vengeance His eyes are filled with fire, And he has promised treachery Full vanting from his ire. Lord Hathor, he was first to die, All in his youthful bloom But e'er death glazed the stallion's eyes The beast swore fearful doom. Of moonlight is the horse's mane His blood is formed from death His teeth are now a traitor's bane And fury now his breath. A.C. Crispin, Andre Norton   "Songsmith"

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