The stream ran very fast and the throbbing swelled into a deep, sullen roar.

There was a smell of burning, and now and then a trail of smoke drifted out from the bank, beyond which a red glow glimmered against the sky.

It was like this, she thought, on that other evening when her father returned from his last journey, but the melancholy she had felt had given way to a strange emotional excitement.

Somehow she knew the pilgrimage she had made for his sake would end as she had hoped.
For all that, she set her lips and grasped the side of the canoe when they came to the top of the rapid.

Spray that looked like steam rolled across the water, blurring the tops of the crested waves that ran back as far as one could see, and here and there in the smooth black patches a wedge of foam boiled behind a rock.