But the lynx understood.

It was the old feud of many generations--made deadlier now by Kazan's memory of that night at the top of the Sun Rock.
Instinct told the fisher-cat what was coming, and it crouched low and flat; the porcupines, scolding like little children at the presence of enemies and the thickening clouds of smoke, thrust their quills still more erect.

The lynx lay on its belly, like a cat, its hindquarters twitching, and gathered for the spring.

Kazan's feet seemed scarcely to touch the sand as he circled lightly around it.

The lynx pivoted as he circled, and then it shot in a round snarling ball over the eight feet of space that separated them.
Kazan did not leap aside.