When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack.
Posted by sheilaCall of the Wild
Posted by: Dan at November 9, 2004 2:59 PMyes
Posted by: red at November 9, 2004 3:05 PM