him. He was out over it. He looked down, his whole body quaking.
He breathed in quick bursts, and saw little clouds in front of his face
in the starlight.

Another step, and another. For balance, his trembling hands went out
from his sides. He looked down. The river was solid ice, and the stars
reflected on its smooth black surface. If he fell he would hit that ice
so hard every one of his bones would break.

He teetered dizzily. He looked to the left and the right and saw that
the edges of the bridge were just on either side of him. He could topple
over and nothing would stop him. Where was the White Bear?

Fear would make him fall. Even if this bridge of lights still held his
weight, it was so narrow that he must surely lose his balance and die.

_But if it holds me, I must be meant to live. And if I am meant to live,
I will not be allowed to fall._

It was only his fear that was making the bridge feel so precarious. He
knew that the more he believed, the safer it would be for him.

_Never turn your back on fear_, he remembered Owl Carver saying. _Never
try to drive it away. Fear is your friend. It warns you of danger._

_But what about when I must face the danger and not be warned from it?_
he asked.

_As long as you listen to its warning, fear will not stop you from doing
what you have to do. But if you try to pretend you do not hear it, fear
will trip you and bind you with rawhide cords._

Gray Cloud, still afraid, stepped forward more boldly. Whatever spirits
were making this happen to him, surely they were not showing him these
wonders only then to destroy him.

He was out over the middle of the river, and he heard a deep muttering
behind him.

He turned, and it was the White Bear, as big as an old bull buffalo,
moving with him on its huge, clawed feet. It came up beside him, and he
reached up to touch its shoulder. He knew now that it was a great
spirit, and that it was his friend. He dug his fingers into the thick
fur and felt the warmth and the enormous, powerful muscle underneath.

Joy flooded through him. Where he had been nearly overcome with fear,
strength and excitement had entered. He ran up the rising curve of the
bridge. He felt an impulse to dance, and he broke into the half trot,
half shuffle of the men when they welcomed the harvest of good things to
eat that the women had planted around Saukenuk village. He flapped his
arms like the wild goose.

The bridge, he saw now, did not cross