He snarled between his clamped teeth.
Not until the last quiver had left the body over him did he pull himself out from under her chest and forelegs.

He had killed a rabbit that day and was not hungry.

So he sat back in the snow and waited, while the ravenous pack tore at the dead doe.

After a little he came nearer, nosed in between two of them, and was nipped for his intrusion.
As Kazan drew back, still hesitating to mix with his wild brothers, a big gray form leaped out of the pack and drove straight for his throat.
He had just time to throw his shoulder to the attack, and for a moment the two rolled over and over in the snow.

They were up before the excitement of sudden battle had drawn the pack from the feast.