Білий ікол

           Henevertookhiseyesfromthegod,thrustinghisheadforwardwithearsflattenedbackandhairinvoluntarilyrisingandcrestingonhisneck. Alsoalowgrowlrumbledinhisthroataswarningthathewasnottobetrifledwith. Heatethemeat,andnothinghappened. Piecebypiece,heateallthemeat,andnothinghappened. Stillthepunishmentdelayed. 

           Helickedhischopsandwaited. Thegodwentontalking. Inhisvoicewaskindness—somethingofwhichWhiteFanghadnoexperiencewhatever. Andwithinhimitarousedfeelingswhichhehadlikewiseneverexperiencedbefore. Hewasawareofacertainstrangesatisfaction,asthoughsomeneedwerebeinggratified,asthoughsomevoidinhisbeingwerebeingfilled. Thenagaincametheprodofhisinstinctandthewarningofpastexperience. Thegodswereevercrafty,andtheyhadunguessedwaysofattainingtheirends. 

           Ah,hehadthoughtso! Thereitcamenow,thegod’shand,cunningtohurt,thrustingoutathim,descendinguponhishead. Butthegodwentontalking. Hisvoicewassoftandsoothing. Inspiteofthemenacinghand,thevoiceinspiredconfidence. Andinspiteoftheassuringvoice,thehandinspireddistrust. WhiteFangwastornbyconflictingfeelings,impulses. Itseemedhewouldflytopieces,soterriblewasthecontrolhewasexerting,holdingtogetherbyanunwontedindecisionthecounter-forcesthatstruggledwithinhimformastery. 

           Hecompromised. Hesnarledandbristledandflattenedhisears.Butheneithersnappednorsprangaway. Thehanddescended. Nearerandneareritcame. Ittouchedtheendsofhisupstandinghair. Heshrankdownunderit. Itfolloweddownafterhim,pressingmorecloselyagainsthim. Shrinking,almostshivering,hestillmanagedtoholdhimselftogether. Itwasatorment,thishandthattouchedhimandviolatedhisinstinct.