Kazan usually hunted the big snow-shoe rabbits.

But one night he ran down and killed a young doe.

The kill was too heavy to drag to Gray Wolf, so he returned to where she was waiting for him and guided her to the feast.

In many ways they became more and more inseparable as the summer lengthened, until at last, through all the wilderness, their footprints were always two by two and never one by one.
Then came the great fire.
Gray Wolf caught the scent of it when it was still two days to the west.
The sun that night went down in a lurid cloud.

The moon, drifting into the west, became blood red.