only an old thrush. Unafraid it perched by his ear and it brought him
news. Marvelling he found he could understand its tongue, for he was
of the race of Dale.
     “Wait! Wait!” it said to him. “The moon is rising. Look for the hollow
of the left breast as he flies and turns above you!” And while Bard
paused in wonder it told him of tidings up in the Mountain and of all
that it had
     Then Bard drew his bow-string to his ear. The dragon was circling
back, flying low, and as he came the moon rose above the eastern shore
and silvered his great wings.
     “Arrow!” said the bowman. “Black arrow! I have saved you to the last.
You have never failed me and always I have recovered you. I had you
from my father and he from of old. If ever you came from the forges of
the true king under the Mountain, go now and speed well!”
     The dragon swooped once more lower than ever, and as he turned and
dived down his belly glittered white with sparkling fires of gems in
the moon-but not in one place. The great bow twanged. The black arrow
sped straight from the string, straight for the hollow by the left
breast where the foreleg was flung wide. In it smote and vanished,
barb, shaft and feather, so fierce was its flight. With a shriek that