"All right," cried Tur-il-i-ra. "I'll wait down there by the edge of the forest; and when he sees me, he can rush out, and then you will all soon know who will be finished."
So the Giant went over to the wood, and sat down and waited. After a while, he got very sleepy, and he thought he would take a little nap until the Kyrofatalapynx should come. In order that the people might wake him up in time, he tied a long rope to one of his ear-rings (his eyes had been a little weak in his youth), and everybody took hold of the end of the rope, and they promised to pull good and hard when they heard the trees crushing in the forest. So the Giant went to sleep, and the people all listened for the Kyrofatalapynx,--holding their breaths, and standing ready to jerk the rope when he should come.
Poor little Ting-a-ling was nearly consumed with curiosity. What _was_ the Kyrofatalapynx? He slipped down to the ground without being noticed by anybody; and, as they all seemed so intent listening and watching, he felt afraid to speak to any of them. Directly a happy thought struck him.
"I will go into the wood myself. Whatever the Kyfymytaly-gyby is, he won't be likely to see me, and I can run and tell Tur-il-i-ra where he is, before he comes out of the wood."
So away he went, and soon was deep in the darkness of the forest. But he could hear no noise, and saw nothing that appeared to have life. Even the very birds and insects seemed to have flown away. After wandering some distance, he suddenly met a fairy, a little bit of a fellow, but somewhat larger than himself, and entirely green. Ting-a-ling spoke to him, and told him what he was after.
"That isn't exactly his name," said the green fairy, politely, "but I know what you mean. If you come this way, I can show him to you."
So Ting-a-ling followed him, and presently they came to the edge of an opening in the middle of the forest; and there, sure enough, was the Kyrofatalapynx. With one of his great red tails coiled around an immense oak-tree, and the other around a huge rock, he sat with his elephantine legs gathered up under him, as if he were about to spring over the tree-tops. But he had no such idea. In his great hands, as big as travelling-trunks, he held a long iron bar, one end of which he was sharpening against a stone. By his side lay an immense bow, made of a tall young yew-tree, and the cord was a long and tough grape-vine. As he sat sharpening this great arrow, he grinned until his horrid teeth looked like a pale-fence around a little garden, and he muttered to himself as he worked away,--"Four hundred and nine more rubs, and I can send it twang through him; twang, twang, twang!"