One day the radiant valley darkened . . .  Out of the sky, as if rising from worlds beyond the horizon, a cyclopean phantasm of clouds took form.  Rising higher and higher toward the zenith, ominous and sinister, it gathered substance and spread across the glowing heavens like a film of smoke . . .  It took upon itself the awful semblance of a mighty thing, half-beast, half-man.  As if to strike, it slowly lifted the likeness of a gigantic arm shrouded with tattered clouds . . .  The baleful shade shut off the sunlight from the earth . . .  Ootah’s heart quailed . . .  Terror gripped him . . .  For he saw—­what few men had ever beheld—­the shadow of Perdlugssuaq, the Great Evil.  Finally he found voice.

“O most dreadful of the tornarssuit (spirits),” he called, grovelling on his knees, “smite me!  Smite me!”

During the tragic days of his isolation the full realization of all that he had lost had come to Ootah.  He fed upon the memory of Annadoah’s face.  He remembered how, with the vision of that face before him, he had excelled in the hunts and games, and for many moons had felt confident of winning her.  He dwelt for hours upon her stunning rejection, of how she clung to the white man; he visioned with heart corroding bitterness her days with Olafaksoah, and he burned with unnameable anguished pangs as he conjured her nights.  Now, the violence of his grief exhausted, he invoked death.

Expectant, fearful, with closed eyes, he waited.

In the valley a storm gathered, and the low whine of the winds Ootah believed to be the breath of the descending terror.  The air became unbearably colder as the dreaded creator of death, darkness and ice descended.  The taut suspense was terrible.  Finally Ootah reached the limits of human endurance—­merciful unconsciousness blotted out the long agony.

When he recovered the storm had passed.  Scores of birds, driven against the rocks by the terrible winds, lay dead at the entrance of the cave.  Surely the Great Evil had struck, but he lived.  Hunger stirred within him and he fell upon the birds.

Later he sought game in the lower valleys.  He had lances and bows and arrows with him.  He found an inland vale, where a patch of green grass was exposed despite a recent fall of snow—­there a herd of musk oxen grazed.  He drew his bow of bone and sinew.  One fell after the first quiver of his arrow.  His skill was marvellous.  He had struck a vital spot.  He finished his killing of the fallen animal with a lance.  He feasted upon the raw meat, and carried away with him up to his eyrie enough to last for many days.