For many nights the Vomaddi had peace. The Sheefra-mist did not arise and the voices did not call. They hardly dared to think that the Entelláka maidens had driven them all away. Then there came a night of no moon. Dark clouds hid the stars. All were abed when suddenly they heard a noise like a mingled screaming and bellowing. The hearts of the Kabadri turned to water. Nevertheless, many brave ones seized weapons and ran fearlessly towards the place where the noise was.
In the dark, little could be seen. Yet they could soon discern that some huge creature had descended from the air into the outer garth of the settlement, where herds and flocks were kept. There was a sound of terrified lowing and bleating from the Kabadka beasts. As they drew near, their lamps gave them glimpses of huge claws and a great mouth full of teeth, dripping with blood. There was a vile, unbearable stench. Arching wings came in and out of the light. The Kabadri had brought bows and spears: they shot their arrows and flung spears at the monster. It turned from gorging itself on the helpless sheep and cattle and advanced on the Kabadri.
A wise and courageous Kabáda woman, Kepruzdámun by name, ran among the fighters and seized Kimenarthon by the arm.
‘O Kimen, kindle the Brands — the Brands of the Entelláka maidens!’
‘What possible good can smoking wood do against a raging monster, O Kepruz?!’
‘Try it, O Kimenarthon! Try it! We have nothing to lose. The monster is going to devour us.’
So Kimenarthon ran to his house and brought forth the Brands of Mánagil Hyûvas. Hastily he placed them on a handy stone. He stretched forth his hands over them.
And above the bellowing scream of the monster and the yelling of the Kabadka fighters he cried:
Gaful-â gaful-â, fringîn ê-nor ilmaduz!
Instantly the brands took fire, and seconds later a dense cloud of aromatic smoke streamed from them, spreading into the air around. The Kabadri who were gathered there felt a new strength and hope enter their hearts.
The hideous noise ceased. The creature stood at bay among the carcases of his prey, no longer interested in eating, it seemed. Here and there the fallen Kabadka fighters, wounded but not slain, dragged themselves out of his reach; but the monster ignored them. It waved its head from side to side as if confused. Then, so suddenly that everyone ran backwards in fright, it beat its huge wings, lifted itself into the night air, and turned away, quickly vanishing into the darkness.
The Kabadri stood motionless in shock and awe, still on their guard in case it should return. But the night was silent. The pungent smoke wreathed the garths and uplifted the hearts of everyone in Figrû Vomaddi. Then Kimenarthon remembered to speak the quench-rune:
Aragaful-denn; pargúnaë runúgeras!
They turned to the urgent task of binding up the wounds of the fighters and clearing the bodies of the dead beasts. But the monster Hugturâgis was seen no more in Figrû Vomaddi. The tales say that he became docile, a fit mount for a netáwa but never again able to wreak destruction and death.
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