It was this, and the murmur of a thousand trickles of running water, and the soft wind breathing down in the balsam and spruce that put the music of spring into the air.
At last Noozak heaved a great breath out of her lungs and with a grunt to Neewa began to lead the way slowly down among the rocks to the foot of the ridge.
In the golden pool of the valley it was even warmer than on the crest of the ridge.

Noozak went straight to the edge of the slough.

Half a dozen rice birds rose with a whir of wings that made Neewa almost upset himself.

Noozak paid no attention to them.

A loon let out a squawky protest at Noozak's soft-footed appearance, and followed it up with a raucous screech that raised the hair on Neewa's spine.