They were dogs, and not wolves.
In some lonely cabin in the wilderness their master had died, and they had taken to the forests.

They still bore signs of the sledge-traces.
About their necks were moose-hide collars.

The hair was worn short at their flanks, and one still dragged after him three feet of corded babiche trace.

Their eyes gleamed red and hungry in the glow of the moon and the stars.

They were thin, and gaunt and starved, and Kazan suddenly turned and trotted ahead of them to the side of the dead bull.