"I cannot forget. Even as the ravens in their winter shelter dream of the summer sun, so my soul grows warm, in all my loneliness, in the memory of Olafaksoah."
Ootah groaned with an access of misery. Frenziedly he caught her hands and pressed them. Annadoah struggled. His words beat hotly in her ears:
"But I want thee. My blood burns at the thought of thee. It is against the custom of the tribe that thou shouldst be alone. Thou must take a husband."
"No—no," she shook her head.
"But some one must care for thee. I love thee. Thou wilt forget
Olafaksoah. Thy hurt will heal."
Annadoah shook her head piteously.
"Do the gulls that freeze to death in winter fly in springtime?" she asked, simply.
Ootah did not reply.
"He was strong," she murmured. "His hands bruised me. He was cruel. He hurt me. Yet he gave my heart joy. My heart is dying—dying as the birds die. I feel the teeth of the wolves in my heart."
Ootah pointed to the women. The soft crooning of their voices reached him as they resumed the dismal dirge of their own woes.