Teague ran over to the pile of bodies. Tears ( deòir ) streamed down his face. What could he do but cry? The bodies were seemingly human, but they were darker than any skin he knew. The pores were in grain forms as a plank of wood. The petite faces were marred with horror on their faces. They were stacked upon each other in a gruesome display. He ran his hand down one’s face, and it was as soft as grass.
Still knelled ( sherim )the bell. A slow funeral procession beat ( buille ) continued as Teague looked on in horror. As he took in the immense stack of bodies, he saw that the bell was an iron-wrought bell ( clag ) that Teague thought had to come from the largest belfry ( clogachd ) ever constructed. Covered in aged moss ( còinneach ), the bell swung with an invisible pull. Still ( a dh’aindeoin cùise ) rang the bell. Teague convulsed. His capillaries constricted more. He felt blood run from his forehead ( bathais ). A ring of seepage matted his hair ( falt ) down to his skull. His screams erupted from his throat, but were drowned out by the bell. Agus, sherim an clag a dh’aindeoin cùise.