It was one formed by the tearing out of the roots of a great cedar, that had probably fallen in some wild storm, which made for me the deep hole as the room for my house and flanked this on one side with a wall of mud held fast among the upturned roots.

Overhanging ones formed also the framework into which we interlaced the poles and branches to make a roof, finished off with stones for stability and snow for warmth.
The front of the hut was ever open but was constantly protected by the guardian naida.

In that snow-covered den I spent two months like summer without seeing any other human being and without touch with the outer world where such important events were transpiring.

In that grave under the roots of the fallen tree I lived before the face of nature with my trials and my anxiety about my family as my constant companions, and in the hard struggle for my life.

Ivan went off the second day, leaving for me a bag of dry bread and a little sugar.