White Fang – 2
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They moved on without speaking, saving themselves for the trail. The silence pressed in from all sides. It closed around them, pushing them deeper into their own minds.
Whatever they thought of themselves did not matter here. All traces of self-importance were pressed out of them, like juice from a grape. Stripped away by the silence, a person felt small.
Time passed. One hour, then another.
The dim light of the day began to fade, and a faint cry rose in the distance. It rose high, then slowly faded away. It might have been a lost soul’s wail — but it wasn’t. There was something else in it. Hunger. Need.
The man in front turned his head toward the man behind him. They nodded, looking at the long, narrow box.
Another cry followed, sharper this time. Then another, farther off. Both men knew where it came from. Behind them. Out there on the trail they had crossed.
“They’re after us, Bill,” said the man at the front.
“Meat is scarce,” answered his comrade.
They said nothing more. Their ears stayed alert for the cries that continued to rise behind them.