Deep in the darkest part of the dark month, in the Moon of the darkest days, they met in their wildest revel; for this was their season of sovereignty. Then did they hold their war-dance on the ice of the Chaska-water, dancing in air like flashes of rosy lightning — in a great circle they danced. And they shot their shining deadly arrows in the air, frost-arrows that pierced all things like a death; they pounded the ice with their warclubs as they danced, and set the snow a-swirling louder, harder, faster.
There were sounds in the air of going, sounds in the earth of grinding, and of groaning in Chaska-water.
“I am not afraid”, said the Partridge, as fear filled her breast: “I can hide in the kindly snow-drift”. “I have no fear”, said the trembling Marten: “my home is a hollow, ..text continues