A second and a third night he went away; and then came the time--inevitable as the coming and going of the moon and stars--when understanding at last broke its way through his hope and his fear, and something told him that Neewa would never again travel with him as through those glorious days of old, when shoulder to shoulder they had faced together the comedies and tragedies of life in a world that was no longer soft and green and warm with a golden sun, but white, and still, and filled with death.
Neewa did not know when Miki went away from the den for the last time.
And yet it may be that even in his slumber the Beneficent Spirit may have whispered that Miki was going, for there were restlessness and disquiet in Neewa's dreamland for many days thereafter.
"Be quiet--and sleep!" the Spirit may have whispered.

"The Winter is long.

The rivers are black and chill, the lakes are covered with floors of ice, and the waterfalls are frozen like great white giants.

Sleep! For Miki must go his way, just as the waters of the streams must go their way to the sea.

For he is Dog.