Even now Challoner was looking at the scratches on his hands.

He advanced a few steps, and grinned down at Neewa, just as he had grinned good-humouredly at Miki, the angular pup.
Neewa's little eyes blazed.
"I told you last night that I was sorry," said Challoner, speaking as if to one of his own kind.
In several ways Challoner was unusual, an out-of-the-ordinary type in the northland.

He believed, for instance, in a certain specific psychology of the animal mind, and had proven to his own satisfaction that animals treated and conversed with in a matter-of-fact human way frequently developed an understanding which he, in his unscientific way, called reason.
"I told you I was sorry," he repeated, squatting on his heels within a yard of the root from under which Neewa's eyes were glaring at him, "and I am.

I'm sorry I killed your mother.

But we had to have meat and fat.