There was still a quarter of a pound of tea, no sugar, no coffee, half a dozen pounds of flour, twenty-seven prunes jealously guarded in a piece of narwhal skin, a little salt and pepper mixed, and fresh caribou meat.
"It's a lovely day, and we'll have a treat for dinner," he informed himself.

"No need of starving.

We'll have a real feast.

I'll cook SEVEN prunes instead of five!" He built a small fire, hung two small pots over it, selected his prunes, and measured out a tablespoonful of black tea.

In the respite he had while the water heated he dug a small mirror out of the sack and looked at himself.