He was no longer alone, but had a priceless thing to fight for, a priceless and helpless thing that was clinging to his fingers in the darkness.

He did not feel like a fugitive, but as one who has come into a great triumph.

He sensed no uncertainty or doubt.
The river lay ahead, and for him the river had become the soul and the promise of life.

It was Marette's river and his river, and in a little while they would be on it.

And Marette would then tell him about Kedsty.