For an instant Josephine's hand fluttered to his own, and held it back, and the dark glow of her eyes said: "Don't kill." Here there were no big-eyed moose-birds, none of the mellow throat sounds of the brush sparrow, no harsh janglings of the gaudily coloured jays.

In the timber fell the soft footpads of creatures with claw and fang, marauders and outlaws of darkness.

Light, sunshine, everything that loved the openness of day were beyond.

For more than an hour they had driven their canoes steadily on, when, as suddenly as they had entered it, they slipped out from the cavernous gloom into the sunlight again.
Josephine drew a deep breath as the sunlight flooded her face and hair.
"I have my own name for that place," she said.

"I call it the Valley of Silent Things.