You walk silently with the old man, your eyes ever searching the landscape before you. The harsh arctic wind seems unusually calm here, and you push back the thick fur hood from your head so that you can more easily see. You round a slight incline and see an opening into a side of a hill. The mouth of the cavern is not more than two men tall and it is dark beyond the opening. You wonder to yourself, "How is it that his people manage to survive here?" The man leans heavily on his spear as he walks and then gestures to you and your team to follow him in.

You pass through the entrance and you feel the hairs on your arms and neck prickle. It reminds you of the time that you witnessed the death ceremony for your grandmother, a healing woman in the village. This place pulses in its icy shell with the same ethereal power that you witnessed that day.
 

The wide tunnel seems to glow from within and while you carry no light with you, you can still make out the runic carving in the ice along the walls. You can vaguely recognize them as symbols of protection. You are staring at them when you feel as though you have passed through an unseen curtain; it brushes your face and your hair, and warmth rushes onto your cheeks. You blink from the light and see that the warmth is coming from a tall fire that burns in the centre of the cavern. Your eyes sweep the room and you realize that there is no wood on the ground or in the bottom of the pit, but the flames flare up above your head, nearly licking the ceiling. The pale yellow and blue tipped flames cast shadows on the walls, making the room seem as if it were alive. You recognize that this is an ancient and holy place.

Thick musk-oxen, caribou and seal skins lay on the floor and are soft beneath your boots. An assortment of items lay on the floor of the cave. You can see hunting spears and fishing line which lean against a large crate holding smoked meats and burlap bags of grains and rice. In another neat pile are several thin leather-bound books and a small telescope and charting maps. You see a half-finished wood carving of a turtle with a tree growing from its back, and you see tucked in the corner several wooden games and a drum. This place looks like a room where much time is spent by many people. The man sits down gracefully onto the floor and gestures for you to sit beside him. "Come, unhook your little brothers and join me by the fire. The others should be back soon. I know they will be eager to meet the son of our old friend." You release the dogs from their harnesses and they lay down, watching you with their sharp eyes in apparent interest.

"Has your father told you of this place?" he asks. You shake your head and tell him that he never told of his visits here. "How large is this carvern? There must be other tunnels for you to live here all of the time," you ask. But then you remember what your father told you of not asking questions and your face flushes. "I-I'm sorry..." The old man grins. "This holy place goes very far beneath the ice. We do not know exactly how far. The land provides for us and we respect it by only using what we need." You nod slowly and then look puzzled. "Yes? What is it that you are wondering?" he asks. "Well... I don't understand... Why do your people choose to live here, so far from the village?" He stands and gathers some items from the crate and begins to boil water for tea on the hot fire. "Let us sit and drink together, and I will tell you that story."

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