So I turned into it, going ever away from the ship, and hurrying.

I had a thought that I heard shouts behind me, but there was more wind here on the heights than I had felt on the sea, or it was rising, and it sung strangely round the bare points of rock that jutted up everywhere.

Maybe it was but that.
Inland I could see no sign of house or hut where I might find food at least, but the cloud wrack had drifted across the moon, and I could not see far now.

It was a desolate coast, all unlike our own.
Then I came to a place where the track crossed stony ground and was lost in gathered snow.

When I was across that I had lost the road altogether, and had only the line of the cliffs to guide me to what shelter I could not tell.