So the Pict went one way and Feargus went another, and stripping off the skins with which he was clad he sprang into the stream and swam about, for his wound’s sake. Then being refreshed, he gained the land and dressed him and donned his byrny, over it casting the skins to hide the brightness of it and called his horse, which arose quickly and followed him. When Torfrida saw that he had his sword again and his byrny she was rejoiced greatly. So they rode on across the moor and they could see nothing save heather and whin and bracken, with clumps of trees far apart, and patches of bog covered with long grass, and the wild myrtle that sent forth a sweet smell, and in the distance hills and glens innumerable. So they journeyed for many days. But ever the nights drew out and the days drew in, and Feargus had much ado to find food or a dry spot to cast their tent in, and the cold strengthened and much rain fell and sometimes hail and snow. And they were often forced to spend whole days in resting and waiting for the storms to abate. And sometimes they lost their road among the fells. They stayed now on the bare hill side where nothing but the cry of the paitrick or the plover was to be heard the year through; now in wild glens; by crag and loch and burn ever northward wending. Soon they found the winter sore upon them, and the snow lay thick and covered all the land, and the horses had nothing wherewith to satisfy their hunger. In the darkness came wild beasts, and they had to build a great fire each night around them to scare the creatures. And whiles they drew right up to it scenting the horses and then drew back, and at length so bold they grew that one night two giant wolves leapt across the flames nigh to where Feargus sat, sword in hand, but hardly had they reached the earth ere he plunged his sword down the open jaws of one and kicked the other backwards into the fire with his foot. And the snow became so deep that Feargus built a snow house each night for Torfrida, and himself stood by the watch-fire outside. And so they sped, the hazel nut and red deer their food, or whatever his bow could bring down; and from all dangers he shielded her, or labour or weariness or cold, so far as he might in so terrible a clime. But often his heart failed him and he felt that death lay before them. At length the horses waxed weak for lack of food, and he cut the meat from the beasts he slew for them, but he saw that an he could not soon win a clachan or farmstead they must die. [Illustration: The feet of Feargus sank deep in the snow at every step, and made him weary, but he fared on.]