Alone. In all that time without a voice to talk to him. Not once
appearing at a post for food. A loup-garou. An animal-man. A
companion of wolves. By the end of the third year there was not a
drop of dog-blood in his pack. It was wolf, all wolf. From whelps
he brought the wolves up, until he had twenty in his pack. They
were monsters, for the under-grown ones he killed. Perhaps he
would have given them freedom in place of death, but these wolf-
beasts of Bram's would not accept freedom. In him they recognized
instinctively the super-beast, and they were his slaves. And Bram,
monstrous and half animal himself, loved them. To him they were
brother, sister, wife--all creation. He slept with them, and ate
with them, and starved with them when food was scarce. They were
comradeship and protection. When Bram wanted meat, and there was
meat in the country, he would set his wolf-horde on the trail of a
caribou or a moose, and if they drove half a dozen miles ahead of
Bram himself there would always be plenty of meat left on the
bones when he arrived.
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