Day and night she feared it, more than she feared the scent or sound of man.
Since she had given up the pack and her old life for Kazan, the Voice had become Gray Wolf's greatest enemy, and she hated it.

It took Kazan from her.

And wherever it went, Kazan followed.
Night after night it robbed her of her mate, and left her to wander alone under the stars and the moon, keeping faithfully to her loneliness, and never once responding with her own tongue to the hunt-calls of her wild brothers and sisters in the forests and out on the plains.

Usually she would snarl at the Voice, and sometimes nip Kazan lightly to show her displeasure.

But to-day, as the Voice came a third time, she slunk back into the darkness of a fissure between two rocks, and Kazan saw only the fiery glow of her eyes.
Kazan ran nervously to the trail their feet had worn up to the top of the Sun Rock, and stood undecided.