The cow moose no longer mooed to her young.

In place of it, from the open plain and "burn" rose the defiant challenge of bull to bull and the deadly clash of horn against horn under the stars of night.

The wolf no longer howled to hear his voice.

In the travel of padded feet there came to be a slinking, hunting caution.

In all the forest world blood was running red again.
And then--November.
Perhaps Miki would never forget that first day when the snow came.