Moreover, it was beginning to feel too warm for comfort--that is, for a polar bear's comfort, not for yours or mine--in the snowhouse.

She got up and shook herself.

One wall of the snowhouse very civilly gave way a bit, allowing her more room.

But the roof, well supported by the rock, still held.
The snowhouse was full of a beautiful pale-blue light.
"Just at this particular moment a little herd of walrus--two old bulls and four cows with their fat, oily-looking calves--came sprawling, floundering and grunting by.

They were quite out of place on land, of course, but for some reason known only to themselves they were crossing over the narrow neck of low ground from another bay, half a mile away.
Perhaps the ice pack had been jammed in by wind and current on that side, filling the shallow bay to the bottom and cutting the walrus off from their feeding grounds.