Simultaneous with this, Captain Duncan's second kick landed, communicating such propulsion to Michael as to tear his clenched teeth through the flesh and out of the flesh of the fox-terrier.
And Michael turned on the Captain.

What if he were a white god?
In his rage at so many assaults of so many enemies, Michael, who had been peacefully looking for Kwaque and Steward, did not stop to reckon.
Besides, it was a strange white god upon whom he had never before laid eyes.
At the beginning he had snarled and growled.

But it was a more serious affair to attack a god, and no sound came from him as he leaped to meet the leg flying toward him in another kick.

As with the cat, he did not leap straight at it.

To the side to avoid, and in with a curve of body as it passed, was his way.