Even _she_ would beat him.
They would hunt him down, and beat him when they found him.
From out of the glow of the fire he turned his wolfish head to the depths of the forest.

There were no clubs or stinging lashes out in that gloom.

They would never find him there.
For another moment he wavered.

And then, as silently as one of the wild creatures whose blood was partly his, he stole away into the blackness of the night..