* * * * *
Prissy had fallen into a doze, and Janet lay close to her for warmth.
But Clara and Pip-Emma talked softly to each other.
"We gotter do something," Pip-Emma said.
"I bet I could find the way," Clara whispered back, "if you'll come with me."
"Sure. You bet," Pip-Emma said.
They stood up cautiously. The Penguins roused themselves from their half-frozen torpor to look at them. Clara made an authoritative gesture, silencing them. After all, she was still top Penguin.
"We're going for help," she whispered.
The two slipped out of the clearing. They held hands. They knew that if they let go of each other they would be lost. They had only two ideas—to keep together and to keep going down, hoping that at the bottom they'd strike some familiar landmark. It wasn't much of a hope. They were like blind children, picking their way. Things hit them in the face and clutched at them. And when they stopped, breathless and shivering, they heard soft dreadful sounds. Their clothes were torn. Their hands and faces, though they did not know it, were scratched and bleeding.
"You awfully scared, Clara?" Pip-Emma asked.
"Not awfully—not with you, Pip."