The throttling grip of the poison at the base of his brain drew his head back until his muzzle was pointed straight up to the sky.

Still he made no cry.

For a space every nerve in his body was at the point of death.
Then came the change.

As though a string had snapped, the horrible grip left the back of his neck; the stiffness shot out of his body in a flood of shivering cold, and in another moment he was twisting and tearing up the snow in mad convulsions.

The spasm lasted for perhaps a minute.