So
they started as by a single impulse, and the mother wolf led them
swiftly southward, hour after hour at a tireless pace, till the great
he-wolf weakened and turned aside to nurse his wounded fore leg. The
lop-eared cub drew out of the race at the same time. His own wound now
required the soft massage of his tongue to allay the fever; and besides,
the fear that was born in him, one night long ago, and that had slept
ever since, was now awake again, and for the first time he was afraid to
face the famine and the wilderness alone. So the pack swept on, as if
their feet would never tire, and the two wounded wolves crept into the
scrub and lay down together.
A strange, terrible feeling stole swiftly over the covert, which had
always hitherto been a place of rest and quiet content. The cub was
licking his wound softly when he looked up in sudden alarm, and there
was the great he-wolf looking at him hungrily, with a frightful flare in
his green eyes. The cub moved away startled and tried to soothe his
wound again; but the uncanny feeling was strong upon him still, and when
he turned his head there was the big wolf, which had crept forward till
he could see the cub behind a twisted spruce root, watching him steadily
with the same horrible stare in his unblinking eyes.
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