His fangs cut like knives.

If he had fought like a demon against the dogs, he fought like ten demons now, and the man--bleeding and ready to fall--staggered back to the sledge, marveling at what was happening.

For in Gray Wolf there was now the instinct of matehood, and seeing Kazan tearing and righting the pack she joined him in the struggle which she could not understand.
When it was over, Kazan and Gray Wolf were alone out on the plain.

The pack had slunk away into the night, and the same moon and stars that had given to Kazan the first knowledge of his birthright told him now that no longer would those wild brothers of the plains respond to his call when he howled into the sky.
He was hurt.

And Gray Wolf was hurt, but not so badly as Kazan.