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She raced through the blizzard. Gusts of wind burned his face, prickly snow beat on his head and shoulders. Oh, how she ran! Faster. Faster Faster! The hunter's blood boiled in her veins. The fugitive raced like a wild beast, but it seemed to her that she was dragging along.

Several times she jumped up to the white blizzard sky, exposing her flaming forehead and cheeks to the snow, and sent a call to her flock. They must know that she is alive and that there are hunters from the Citadel with her. The flock must get away from the round-up. And she will catch up. Now or in a few days. The main thing is that she is alive. She and her child.

The precious bundle pulled back his hands. The walker stopped several times. She frantically caught her breath and looked into a serene sleepy face. A son. Her son! Alive! Joy gave strength, spurred on like a whip, and the woman again rushed away from the gloomy bulk of the Citadel, which was left behind.

Winter nights are long. She will be far awa