She ran to a little knoll at the corner of the house and saw him set his face to the storm.

She cried aloud to him with all her strength and would have followed, but the wind took the words out of her mouth and drove her back cowering to the shelter of the house.
Out on the road the dust came lashing and stinging him like a thousand nettles; it smothered him, and beat upon him so that he covered his face with his sleeve and fought into the storm shoulder foremost, dimly glad of its rage, scarcely conscious of it, keeping westward on his way to nowhere.

West or east, south or north--it was all one to him.

The few heavy drops that fell boiling into the dust ceased to come; the rain withheld while the wind-kings rode on earth.

On he went in spite of them.