And for that he was accountable, and the fifth night he lay sleepless under the stars, and like a boy he cried for her with his face upon his arm, and when morning came, and he went on, never had the world seemed so vast and empty.
His face was gray and haggard, a face grown suddenly old, and he traveled slowly, for the desire to reach his people was dying within him.

He could not laugh with Keok and Nawadlook, or give the old tundra call to Amuk Toolik and his people, who would be riotous in their happiness at his return.

They loved him.

He knew that.

Their love had been a part of his life, and the knowledge that his response to this love would be at best a poor and broken thing filled him with dread.