In fact, it's not really a calf, because it is too old; but so long as young moose stick to their mothers we call them calves up here.

I've known them to remain together for three years." "They're coming this way!" whispered the white youth.
The moose had turned, heading for the base of the mountain upon which they stood.

Wabi drew his companion behind a big rock, from which both could look down without being seen.
"Be quiet!" he warned.

"They're coming to feed on the sprouting poplar along the mountain side.

Just been over to the creek to get a drink.
We may have some fun!" He wet a finger in his mouth and held it above his head, the forest pathfinder's infallible method of telling how the wind blows.