As the swift and noble horses raced along their path, the people called out to them, honoring their speed and renown. “With well-being, O horse,” they prayed, “carry Indra to victory, adorned with a fair garland.” These white, high-spirited steeds, harnessed by Indra himself on the right side, bore the ancient homage of the gods and were magnified by their praise. These horses did not simply run—they swam forth, forging ahead even against the current, ever seeking the well-pressed Soma. Among them shone one with a golden mane. To this golden-maned horse, a question arose: “Golden-maned one, what do you desire?” The answer came: “A good son, rich in gold.” But where had this one from afar gone? He was found where the three śiṃśapā trees stood, circling around them. There, at the crossing, the guardians of the ford sat, blowing the horn to announce arrivals and departures. This was the great coming of the horse, a moment of significance. The horse, indeed, strove together with his companion. In the household, there was one who was rich in cows, who moved with the cows—so it was said. “You, O man, lie down on the kushta grass,” the instruction was given. The young bird was bound, and so, too, were one’s sins—thus it was said. At this time, the kevikā bird awakened, and the horse’s turn came at the cow’s hoof-mark. She, the mistress of the eagle, presided over these events. The tongue was healthy and without disease. Questions arose among the people: “Who, O noble one, has many arrows? Who has the milk of the black cow, the white cow, the dark cow?” They were urged to seek, to inquire: “Ask this, ask where. Ask about the cooked, ask about the ripe.” The barley-grower moved among the ascetics, carrying the kubhi vessel, while those who did not stir were the makers of wells. The āmaṇaka was known as the maṇatsaka. A prayer was offered: “O god, you are without rival to the sun.” The offering was prepared in five portions, and one rushed forth, seeking the reward. A horn arose, sounding through the air. “Let not a companion harm you, nor let him know you,” came the blessing. They went to the calf of the cow, seeking nourishment. “Give to the one who knows the food and the drink,” they said. Now, all moved—moving, moving thus—ever onward, ever changing, in the eternal rhythm of the world.