Ada blackjack huddles in a small igloo on the edge of camp, desperately trying to stay warm. It's mid December, 1921. Outside a blizzard rages. She peers out the entrance of the igloo. She can barely make out the smoke from the wood burning stove in the winter house. She wishes she was in there, warming her hands by the fire. But yesterday, Lauren knight banished her to the igloo. His latest punishment for her refusal to sew. Black Jack's hands ache in their mittens. She tries to wiggle her fingers, but they're stiff and sore. She can barely move them. She'll have frostbite soon. Maybe this is where she'll die. When the storm subsides, night will find her body blue and covered in frost. At that thought, adrenaline jolts through her. A thought enters her mind with shocking clarity. She doesn't want to die. She wants to live even here on this terrible island. She pulls her hood as tight as she can around her head. And charges out into the snow. The wind howls in her ears. The gusts push her left and right. Snow whips into her face, stinging her cheeks and sticking to her eyelashes. She plots forward, hoping she's heading in the right direction. At last, her feet hit against the blocks of snow the men have used to insulate the winter house. She calls out. Mister knight, mister Gayle, let me in. The door opens and night looks out. Bundled up in his reindeer parka. He eyes her warily. For a moment, blackjack worries, he won't let her in. But he stands back, granting her entrance. Inside the main tent, Milton Gale lies in his sleeping bag. Crawford and murr are still away at the trapping camp. Blackjack doesn't say a word to either of the two men. She had straight for the stove and extends her hands. After a few minutes, feeling starts to come back to them. She senses night looming behind her. If you want to stay in here, you have to sew. Otherwise, you're going back outside. Blackjack bristles. But then, she stops. She looks night in the eye. What should I make? Gloves and socks. Blackjack nods and gets to work. She sews all the way through dinner without stopping. And as she pushes the needle and thread through the fox fur. She.