But Leo was up and far across the fields, driven forward by the fear of death for himself and for the Girl, who was dearer to him than himself. Presently he came across the Bull drowsing in the moonlight after a hard day's work, and looking through half-shut eyes at the beautiful straight furrows that he had made. "Ho!" said the Bull. "So you have been told these things too. Which of the Houses holds your death?" Leo pointed upward to the dark House of the Crab and groaned. "And he will come for the Girl too," he said. "Well," said the Bull, "what will you do?" Leo sat down on the dike and said that he did not know. "You cannot pull a plough," said the Bull, with a little touch of contempt. "I can, and that prevents me from thinking of the Scorpion." Leo was angry, and said nothing till the dawn broke, and the cultivator came to yoke the Bull to his work. "Sing," said the Bull, as the stiff, muddy ox-bow creaked and strained. "My shoulder is galled. Sing one of the songs that we sang when we thought we were all Gods together." Leo stepped back into the canebrake, and lifted up his voice in a song of the Children of the Zodiac--the war-whoop of the young Gods who are afraid of nothing. At first he dragged the song along unwillingly, and then the song dragged him, and his voice rolled across the fields, and the Bull stepped to the tune, and the cultivator banged his flanks out of sheer light-heartedness, and the furrows rolled away behind the plough more and more swiftly. Then the Girl came across the fields looking for Leo, and found him singing in the cane. She joined her voice to his, and the cultivator's wife brought her spinning into the open and listened with all her children round her. When it was time for the nooning, Leo and the Girl had sung themselves both thirsty and hungry, but the cultivator and his wife gave them rye bread and milk, and many thanks; and the Bull found occasion to say: "You have helped me to do a full half field more than I should have done. But the hardest part of the day is to come, brother." Leo wished to lie down and brood over the words of the Crab. The Girl went away to talk to the cultivator's wife and baby, and the afternoon ploughing began. "Help us now," said the Bull. "The tides of the day are running down. My legs are very stiff. Sing, if you never sang before." "To a mud-spattered villager?" said Leo. "He is under the same doom as ourselves. Are you a coward?" said the Bull.