Burying the corpse; the resolve to seek companions

Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in gloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the ground,…

Zarathustra reflects that he has caught a corpse and not a man. The buffoon warns him to leave town. He is mocked by grave-diggers, fed by a hermit, and lays the dead man in a hollow tree.

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.…

Waking, Zarathustra sees a new truth: he needs living companions who follow themselves. He will no longer be the herd's herdsman and leaves to find fellow-creators.

Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses—and not herds or believers either.

Zarathustra names those he seeks: fellow-creators who grave new values on new tables.

This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noontide. Then he looked inquiringly aloft,—for he heard above him the sharp call of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles, and…

At noon an eagle appears with a serpent coiled round its neck like a friend. Zarathustra calls them his animals, the proudest and the wisest. He asks that his pride go with his wisdom, or with his folly.