Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the path and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced nightwalker, and liked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning dawned, however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was any longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his head⁠—for he wanted to protect him from the wolves⁠—and laid himself down on the ground and moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul.

Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head, but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed into himself. Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once seeth the land; and he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he spake thus to his heart:

A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions⁠—living ones; not dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.