He was still watchful, still guarding against a further attack,
and suddenly he whirled to face a figure that brought from him a
cry of astonishment and alarm. It was Celie. She was standing ten
paces from him, and in the wild terror that had brought her to him
she had left the bearskin behind. Her naked feet were buried in
the snow. Her arms, partly bared, were reaching out to him in the
gray Arctic dawn, and then wildly and moaningly there came to him--

"Philip--Philip--"

He sprang to her, a choking cry on his own lips. This, after all,
was the last proof--when she had thought that their enemies were
killing him SHE HAD COME TO HIM. He was sobbing her name like a
boy as he ran back with her in his arms. Almost fiercely he
wrapped the bearskin about her again, and then crushed her so
closely in his arms that he could hear her gasping faintly for
breath. In that wild and glorious moment he listened. A cold and
leaden day was breaking over the world and as they listened their
hearts throbbing against each other, the same sound came to them
both.

It was the sakootwow--the savage, shrieking blood-cry of the
Kogmollocks, a scream that demanded an answer of the three hooded
creatures who, a few minutes before, had attacked Philip in the
edge of the open. The cry came from perhaps a mile away. And then,
faintly, it was answered far to the west. For a moment Philip
pressed his face down to Celie's. In his heart was a prayer, for
he knew that the fight had only begun.