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Updated: May 4, 2025
And then, all at once, there came to her what old Pierre had said the night before his words about the river, the air-holes, the home forty miles away. "You couldn't lose yourself, Joan" He had guessed what might happen. She bundled the baby deep in the furs and returned to the fire-bed. Her one thought now was that they must have fire.
He stood at one end of the fire-bed and poised the wooden tray over his head, and then sprinkled a handful of it on the ground before the glowing bed of coals. At the same time another priest who stood by him chanted a weird recitative of invocation and struck sparks from flint and steel which he held in his hands.
He lay down, with his nose to the warm coals and his eyes leveled between his forepaws, straight at the closed tent-flap. He meant to keep awake, to watch, to be ready to slink off into the forest at the first movement there. But a warmth was rising from out of the gray ash of the fire-bed, and his eyes closed.
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