At the gleam of his fangs they crouched quivering on their bellies in the snow.
Kazan's blood was fomented with brute exultation, and the excitement and fascination that came in the possession of new power took the place of Gray Wolf each day a little more.

She came in half an hour after the kill, and there was no longer the lithesome alertness to her slender legs, or gladness in the tilt of her ears or the poise of her head.

She did not eat much of the doe.

Her blind face was turned always in Kazan's direction.

Wherever he moved she followed with her unseeing eyes, as if expecting each moment his old signal to her--that low throat-note that had called to her so often when they were alone in the wilderness.
In Kazan, as leader of the pack, there was working a curious change.