It was her habit, spring, summer and winter, to snuggle close to Kazan and lie with her beautiful head resting on his neck or back.

If Kazan snarled at her she did not snap back, but slunk down as though struck a blow.

With her warm tongue she would lick away the ice that froze to the long hair between Kazan's toes.

For days after he had run a sliver in his paw she nursed his foot.

Blindness had made Kazan absolutely necessary to her existence--and now, in a different way, she became more and more necessary to Kazan.