Muskwa, flat on his little paunch, and almost between Thor's huge forearms, lapped up the blood and snarled like a kitten as he ground tender flesh between his tiny teeth.
Thor, as in all his food-seeking, hunted first for the tidbits, though the _sapoos oovin_ had made him as empty as a room without furniture.

He pulled out the thin leafs of fat from about the kidneys and bowels, and munched at yard-long strings of it, his eyes half closed.
The last of the sun faded away from the mountains, and darkness followed swiftly after the twilight.

It was dark when they finished, and little Muskwa was as wide as he was long.
Thor was the greatest of nature's conservators.

With him nothing went to waste that was good to eat, and at the present moment if the old bull caribou had deliberately walked within his reach Thor in all probability would not have killed him.

He had food, and his business was to store that food where it would be safe.
He went back to the balsam thicket, but the gorged cub now made no effort to follow him.