It fell back down on one of the porcupines, and a hundred quills drove into its body.

Another leap and it was free--fleeing into the face of the smoke.

Kazan did not pursue.
Gray Wolf came to his side and licked his neck, where fresh blood was crimsoning his tawny hide.

The fisher-cat lay as if dead, watching them with fierce little black eyes.

The porcupines continued to chatter, as if begging for mercy.