"One calm and cloudless evening, towards the end of April, Snufkin found himself far enough to the north to see still unmelted patches of snow on the northern slopes.

He had been walking all day through undisturbed landscapes, listening to the cries of the birds on their way northwards, home from the South.

Walking had been easy, because his knapsack was nearly empty and he had no worries on this mind. He felt happy about the wood and the weather, and himself."

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