“Better the warmth than the cold,” said Sunrise, and his teeth chattered. “I am going down the hill to warm myself. Who comes?”
But the fear of the fire was on the people, and they whimpered and whined and smote themselves, and told him that he was mad and would be killed. He could not budge them.
“In a little,” said old One Eye, “we shall be rested and have strength to go on—but not back.”
“Then I go alone,” said Sunrise, and he arose and called his mother by name.
“I am here,” answered She Wolf, “but I think the girl is dead, for she is cold to touch and will not answer.”
Sunrise fell as tho’ his belly had been filled with stones, so heavy was his dread.
He knelt by Dawn and felt of her and listened for her breath. He could feel her heart beating feebly against the palm of his hand, but she was very cold.
He gathered her in his arms, and strode down the hill toward the fire. She Wolf limped behind, (a thorn had pierced her foot) beating her breasts and whimpering. But with every step of the descent the air became warmer and in their faces was a pleasant glow from the fire.
A number of hundred feet from the fire they halted, for the heat was becoming too great to bear. Sunrise bade his mother sit and he laid Dawn in her arms.