“Angajorqaq made a sound of great unhappiness,” he said, then held out the bone he was carving to distract her. “This will be a whistle, and see—there will be a ularuaq on it and the whistle will come from its mouth when it is blown.”

She pushed his hand aside, was not going to be deprived of her misery this easily.

“It is winter and dark—but the hair of the Erqigdlit is like the sun inside the paukarut and we laugh and eat and are warm. But now . . .” she wailed again, still rocking from side to side . . . “now Armun will go and the light of the boys will go and all will be black.”

Kalaleq gaped at this outburst. “But they cannot go,” he said. “When the blizzard blows, death sits outside the paukarut with open mouth. When you walk from the paukarut you walk into his teeth. So they cannot go and you do not have to cry out.”

“In the spring,” Armun said. “We must go then.”

“See,” Kalaleq said, stroking Angajorqaq’s fur to quiet her. “See, they are not going. Eat something. They stay.”

The Paramutan lived one day at a time and each new day came as a wonderful surprise. Armun was silent now, but her mind was still made up. They were going to leave as soon as the weather was warm enough to travel. She licked the rest of the blubber from her finger. They would eat well now so they would be strong. And go south as soon as they were able.

The storm blew itself out during the night and when Kalaleq loosened the laces on the smokehole in the morning a tiny shaft of sunlight lanced in. Everyone shouted with excitement at that and searched among the tumbled furs for their discarded clothing, shrieking with laughter when they found someone else’s skins. They had been trapped by the storm for days without number and the children screamed with eagerness. Armun held tight to the wriggling Arnwheet with one hand while she pulled on the soft undergarments that had the fur facing inward for greater warmth. Over them went the thicker outer furs, with the hood, then boots, gloves, everything that made existence possible in the polar north.

Kalaleq was lying stretched out flat, grunting with exertion as he pushed aside the snow that was blocking the end of the entrance tunnel. Light filtered in, then darkened as he wriggled into the opening. They blinked in the glare when he pulled himself free. There was more laughter and they pushed at one another seeing who would be the next one out.

Armun let the boys go first, then followed them. Shielding her eyes against the brightness when she stood up. After the close, damp air of the paukarut, smelling of rotten meat, urine and babies, the cold crispness of the fresh air was wonderful. She breathed it in gratefully, though it stung her nose and throat.