Nothing but a thick, soft carpet of velvety brown needles under which all life was smothered.

It was as if the forest nymphs had made of this their bedchamber, sheltered through all the seasons of the year from wind and rain and snow; or else that the were-wolf people--the loup-garou--had chosen it as their hiding-place and from its weird and gloomy fastnesses went forth on their ghostly missions among the sons of men.
Not a bird twittered in the trees.

There was no flutter of life in their crowded branches.

Everything was so still that Miki heard the excited throbbing of life in his own body.

He looked at Neewa, and in the gloom the cub's eyes were glistening with a strange fire.