One Eye was hungry. Though he lay down in the entrance and slept, his
sleep was fitful. He kept awaking and cocking his ears at the bright
world without, where the April sun was blazing across the snow. When he
dozed, upon his ears would steal the faint whispers of hidden trickles
of running water, and he would rouse and listen intently. The sun had
come back, and all the awakening Northland world was calling to him.
Life was stirring. The feel of spring was in the air, the feel of
growing life under the snow, of sap ascending in the trees, of buds
bursting the shackles of the frost.
He cast anxious glances at his mate, but she showed no desire to get
up. He looked outside, and half a dozen snow-birds fluttered across his
field of vision. He started to get up, then looked back to his mate
again, and settled down and dozed. A shrill and minute singing stole
upon his hearing. Once, and twice, he sleepily brushed his nose with
his paw. Then he woke up. There, buzzing in the air at the tip of his
nose, was a lone mosquito. It was a full-grown mosquito, one that had
lain frozen in a dry log all winter and that had now been thawed out by
the sun. He could resist the call of the world no longer. Besides, he
was hungry.
He crawled over to his mate and tried to persuade her to get up. But
she only snarled at him, and he walked out alone into the bright
sunshine to find the snow-surface soft under foot and the travelling
difficult. He went up the frozen bed of the stream, where the snow,
shaded by the trees, was yet hard and crystalline. He was gone eight
hours, and he came back through the darkness hungrier than when he had
started. He had found game, but he had not caught it. He had broken
through the melting snow crust, and wallowed, while the snowshoe
rabbits had skimmed along on top lightly as ever.
He paused at the mouth of the cave with a sudden shock of suspicion.
Faint, strange sounds came from within. They were sounds not made by
his mate, and yet they were remotely familiar. He bellied cautiously
inside and was met by a warning snarl from the she-wolf. This he
received without perturbation, though he obeyed it by keeping his
distance; but he remained interested in the other sounds—faint, muffled
sobbings and slubberings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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