He was very tired from his long following of the southern migration, but showed the wolf's typical cunning in selecting his bedding spot. It was on high ground along the very edge of a rocky canon overlooking a swift-tumbling river. There was a good moon, and no trees blocked his view of the surrounding country. Satisfied, he lay down and curled up with a great, weary grunt.Downwind from him, a hundred paces away on the riverbank, a wicked-looking little pair of bloodshot eyes watched his every move. Many minutes after he had lain down, a huge shadow detached itself from the stream edge willows, gliding from them toward the king wolf's bedding ground. The shadow was so big and grotesquely hump-backed as to appear unreal. Only the deep-set, tiny eyes, burning like pinpoint coals in the darkness, labeled it a living thing. Loki fell asleep at once. In the first fleeting moments after unconsciousness overcame him, he dreamed briefly of the night's adventure. He had done exceedingly well. With the young queen doe accounted for, the caribou herd would break apart again.
