Slowly he raised his head until his black muzzle rested on her lap, and he closed his eyes while that wonderful little creature that mystified him so--the baby--prodded him with her tiny feet, and pulled his tawny hair.

He loved these baby-maulings even more than the touch of Joan's hand.
Motionless, sphinx-like, undemonstrative in every muscle of his body, Kazan stood, scarcely breathing.

More than once this lack of demonstration had urged Joan's husband to warn her.

But the wolf that was in Kazan, his wild aloofness, even his mating with Gray Wolf had made her love him more.

She understood, and had faith in him.
In the days of the last snow Kazan had proved himself.