"Is it far now, Velasco?"
"Not far, if you peep through the folds of your cloak you will see the domes over yonder. Are you weary, Kaya?"
"No—Velasco."
The voice came in little gasps, as if blown by the gale, fluttering like a leaf that is tossed hither and thither. The older boy bent his head, struggling forward.
"The wind is like a dagger," he stammered, "it cuts through the cloak like an edge of fine steel, like a poignard piercing the heart. Come closer, Kaya, and let me put my arm around you. Your body sways like a frail stem, a flower. You are stumbling and your breath freezes, even as it comes through your lips. Come closer, or you will fall, Kaya. Let me put my arm around you."
"It is nothing, Velasco; only the snow that whirls before my eyes and blinds them. Is that the dawn, those faint, grey streaks in the distance?"
"You are stumbling again, Kaya! It is wonderful the way you have tramped the whole night through. We are almost there."
"It is only my feet, Velasco; they are frozen a little by the snow, and numb. That is nothing for a boy. Let us run a race together. Come!"
"The wind mocks at you, little one. Run in such a blast—fight rather! Put your head down and battle with it. The demon! Keep behind me a little; use my cloak and my arm as a shield. It is not far now."
"Shall we stop at the inn, Velasco; is it safe, do you think? There is one on the market-place."