He loved the sea. Day and night in summer the sound of surf
pounding ceaselessly upon the cliffs was in his ears. It was music to
him, and his lullaby by night.
But he loved the sea no less in winter when it lay frozen and silent
and white. As far as his vision reached toward the rising sun, the
endless plain of ice stretched away to the misty place where the ice
and sky met. Pomiuk thought it would be a fine adventure, some night,
when he was grown to be a man and a great hunter, to take the dogs and
komatik and drive out over the ice to the place from which the sun
rose, and be there in the morning to meet him. He had no doubt the sun
rose out of a hole in the ice, and it did not seem so far away.
Pomiuk's world was filled with beautiful and wonderful things. He
loved the bright flowers that bloomed under the cliffs when the winter
snows were gone, and the brilliant colors that lighted the sky and
mountains and sea, when the sun set of evenings. He loved the mists,
and the mighty storms that sent the sea rolling in upon the cliffs in
summer. He never ceased to marvel at the aurora borealis, which by
night flashed over the heavens in wondrous streams of fire and lighted
the darkened world.
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