The struggle endures for eternities. The wind drives me on. I avoid the clefts, wade through the springs; I measure the distances, for now I have to jump…. The depths are yawning about me.
The ice under my feet begins to rock. It rocks like a cradle, heaving and falling at every step … It would be a charming game were it not a game with death.
My breath comes flying … my heart-beats throttle me … sparks quiver before my eyes.
Let me rock … rock … rock back to the dark sources of being.
A springing fountain, higher than all the others, hisses up before me…. Edges and clods rise into points.
One spring … the last of all … hopeless … inspired by the desperate will to live.
Ah, what is that?
Is that not the goodly earth beneath my feet—the black, hard, stable earth?
It is but a tiny islet formed of frozen mud and roots; it is scarcely two paces across, but large enough to give security to my sinking body.
I am ashore, saved, for only a few arm lengths from me arises the reedy line of the shore.