Before him were the clearly defined imprints of a wolf's feet.
With a low cry Mukoki threw off his pack and fell upon his knees.

His eyes burned fiercely now.

There was something of madness in the way in which he groveled in the soft earth, creeping from one footprint to the next ahead of it, and stopping always where the right forefoot had left its track.

It was that foot which had held Wolf a captive in Mukoki's trap, and he had lost two toes.

None was missing here, and the old pathfinder rose to his feet again, disappointment shadowing the twitching expectancy in his face.
Five times that afternoon Mukoki fell on his knees beside the trails of wolves, and five times the light of hope went out for a moment in his eyes.