With a moan she flung herself forward, and fell upon it.

She no longer heard the wailing of the storm.
She no longer felt discomfort.

With her face in the furs under which baby Joan was buried, there came to her with swiftness and joy a vision of warmth and home.

And then the vision faded away, and was followed by deep night.
Kazan stopped in the trail.

He came back then and sat down upon his haunches beside her, waiting for her to move and speak.