Suddenly the figure of the Pony Rider Boy rose up before them, right in the middle of one of the unearthly wails.
Then the heaven melts with tenderness for the death of the bird; "it wails for it by raining, wailing a funeral wail." In Zululand women sometimes bury their children up to the neck in the ground, and then retiring to a distance keep up a dismal howl for a long time.