He could neither hear nor see them.

He sniffed the sign of human presence, but that sign was always with him, and was not disturbing.

The blood held him--and the strange scent, the game scent--that was coming to him more clearly every instant.
He crunched about cautiously in the snow.

He found other spots of blood, and to the watchers there came a low long whine that seemed about to end in the wolf song.

The blood trails were leading him away toward the game scent, and he tugged viciously at the babeesh that held him captive, gnawing at it vainly, like an angry dog, forgetting what experience had taught him many times before.