At the end of the twelve wild, dancing nights suddenly the grinding mountain opened, and innumerable stones came rolling out, telling each other ancient stories of the golden ages.

Cheerfully chatting they trundled down the slopes towards the storm-floods to bath there and to drink.

As they listened or told a story, they changed their colour depending on their disposition.

In that manner silvery stones often turned into many hues of gold, and red stones turned blue.