She could see nothing of his red-shot eyes and dripping jaws, and would not have understood if she had seen.

But she could _feel_ and she was thrilled by the spirit of that strange and mysterious savagery that had made Kazan forget all things but hurt and death.
The pack made no sound.

There was only the panting of breath and the soft fall of many feet.

They ran swiftly and close.

And always Kazan was a leap ahead, with Gray Wolf nosing his shoulder.
Never had he wanted to kill as he felt the desire in him to kill now.
For the first time he had no fear of man, no fear of the club, of the whip, or of the thing that blazed forth fire and death.