They burrowed under the old bull's body and fed while he raved and filled his mouth with snow.
Gray Wolf sat placidly on her haunches.

The little ermine did not trouble her, and after a time Kazan realized this, and flung himself down beside her, panting and exhausted.
For a long time after that the night was almost unbroken by sound.

Once in the far distance there came the cry of a wolf, and now and then, to punctuate the deathly silence, the snow owl hooted in blood-curdling protest from his home in the spruce-tops.

The moon was straight above the old bull when Gray Wolf scented the first real danger.

Instantly she gave the warning to Kazan and faced the bloody trail, her lithe body quivering, her fangs gleaming in the starlight, a snarling whine in her throat.