Swiftly he was coming into his knowledge of the wilderness.

His eyes gleamed; his blood thrilled.

Often for many minutes at a time he scarcely moved.

But of all the sounds that came to him, the wolf cry thrilled him most.
Again and again he listened to it.

At times it was far away, so far that it was like a whisper, dying away almost before it reached him.
Then again it would come to him full-throated, hot with the breath of the chase, calling him to the red thrill of the hunt, to the wild orgy of torn flesh and running blood--calling, calling, calling.