She could no longer hunt with him, as they had hunted with the wild wolf-packs out on the plain, and in the dark forests.

So at thought of that night he always snarled, and his lips curled back to reveal his inch-long fangs.
The other tragedy was the going of Joan, her baby and her husband.
Something more infallible than reason told Kazan that they would not come back.

Brightest of all the pictures that remained with him was that of the sunny morning when the woman and the baby he loved, and the man he endured because of them, had gone away in the canoe, and often he would go to the point, and gaze longingly down-stream, where he had leaped from the canoe to return to his blind mate.
So Kazan's life seemed now to be made up chiefly of three things: his hatred of everything that bore the scent or mark of the lynx, his grieving for Joan and the baby, and Gray Wolf.

It was natural that the strongest passion in him should be his hatred of the lynx, for not only Gray Wolf's blindness and the death of the pups, but even the loss of the woman and the baby he laid to that fatal struggle on the Sun Rock.
From that hour he became the deadliest enemy of the lynx tribe.

Wherever he struck the scent of the big gray cat he was turned into a snarling demon, and his hatred grew day by day, as he became more completely a part of the wild.
He found that Gray Wolf was more necessary to him now than she had ever been since the day she had left the wolf-pack for him.