Muskwa liked the black currants best of
all. They grew in thick, rich clusters; there were no leaves on the bushes
that were loaded with them, and he could pick and eat a quart in five
minutes.
But at last the time came when there were no berries. This was in October.
The nights were very cold, and for whole days at a time the sun would not
shine, and the skies were dark and heavy with clouds. On the peaks the snow
was growing deeper and deeper, and it never thawed now up near the
sky-line. Snow fell in the valley, too--at first just enough to make a
white carpet that chilled Muskwa's feet, but it quickly disappeared. Raw
winds began to come out of the north, and in place of the droning music of
the valley in summertime there were now shrill wailings and screechings at
night, and the trees made mournful sounds.
To Muskwa the whole world seemed changing. He wondered in these chill and
dark days why Thor kept to the windswept slopes when he might have found
shelter in the bottoms. And Thor, if he explained to him at all, told him
that winter was very near, and that these slopes were their last feeding
grounds. In the valleys the berries were gone; grass and roots alone were
no longer nourishing enough for their bodies; they could no longer waste
time in seeking ants and grubs; the fish were in deep water.
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