Білий ікол
The Lair
Thenheturneddeliberatelyandtooktherightfork. Thefootprintwasmuchlargerthantheonehisownfeetmade,andheknewthatinthewakeofsuchatrailtherewaslittlemeatforhim.
Halfamileuptherightfork,hisquickearscaughtthesoundofgnawingteeth. Hestalkedthequarryandfoundittobeaporcupine,standinguprightagainstatreeandtryinghisteethonthebark. OneEyeapproachedcarefullybuthopelessly. Heknewthebreed,thoughhehadnevermetitsofarnorthbefore; andneverinhislonglifehadporcupineservedhimforameal. ButhehadlongsincelearnedthattherewassuchathingasChance,orOpportunity,andhecontinuedtodrawnear. Therewasneveranytellingwhatmighthappen,forwithlivethingseventsweresomehowalwayshappeningdifferently.
Theporcupinerolleditselfintoaball,radiatinglong,sharpneedlesinalldirectionsthatdefiedattack. InhisyouthOneEyehadoncesniffedtoonearasimilar,apparentlyinertballofquills, andhadthetailflickoutsuddenlyinhisface. Onequillhehadcarriedawayinhismuzzle,whereithadremainedforweeks,aranklingflame,untilitfinallyworkedout. Sohelaydown,inacomfortablecrouchingposition,hisnosefullyafootaway,andoutofthelineofthetail. Thushewaited,keepingperfectlyquiet. Therewasnotelling. Somethingmighthappen. Theporcupinemightunroll. Theremightbeopportunityforadeftandrippingthrustofpawintothetender,unguardedbelly.
Butattheendofhalfanhourhearose,growledwrathfullyatthemotionlessball,andtrottedon. Hehadwaitedtoooftenandfutilelyinthepastforporcupinestounroll,towasteanymoretime. Hecontinueduptherightfork. Thedayworealong,andnothingrewardedhishunt.
