One night after supper, the lead dog turned up with a snow shoe rabbit. The dog lay down low to the race, his body flashing forward, leap by leap. He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and the parts that were deeper than he. Going back into the wounds of time.

Night came on, and the full moon rose high over the trees lighting the land until it laid bathed in ghostly day and the strain of the primitive remained alive and active. Faithfulness and devotion, things born of fire and roof, were his, yet he retained his wildness and wiliness, and from the depths of the forest, the call still sounded.