The porcupine met his approach with a furious squealing and a clashing of its long teeth.

It had managed to roll up in a ball again, but it was not quite the old compact ball; its muscles were too much torn for that.

It had been ripped almost in half, and was still bleeding profusely.
One Eye scooped out mouthfuls of the blood-soaked snow, and chewed and tasted and swallowed.

This served as a relish, and his hunger increased mightily; but he was too old in the world to forget his caution.

He waited.