He doubted whether he would be able to walk on the following day,
but he rubbed them a long time, both with the palms of his hands
and with snow, until they felt better. Then he replaced his
clothing, leaned back against the faithful snowshoes which had
saved his life, however much they had hurt his ankles, and gave
himself up to the warmth of the fire.
It was very luxurious, this warmth and this rest, after so long
and terrible a flight, and he was conscious of a great
relaxation, one which, if he yielded to it completely, would make
his muscles so stiff and painful that he could not use them.
Hence he stretched his arms and legs many times, rubbed his
ankles again, and then, remembering that he had venison, ate
several strips.
He knew that he had taken a little risk with the fire, but a fire
he was bound to have, and he fed it again until he had a great
mass of glowing coals, although there was no blaze. Then he took
down the blanket, wrapped himself in it, and was soon asleep
before the fire. He slept long and deeply, and although, when he
awoke, the day had fully come, the coals were not yet out
entirely. He arose, but such a violent pain from his left ankle
shot through him that he abruptly sat down again.
Pages:
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398