1906 white fang jack london - pinkmonke - Pink Monkey

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stalked grandly away. Nor, until well out of sight, did he stop to
lick his bleeding wounds.
The effect on White Fang was to give him a greater faith in himself,
and a greater pride. He walked less softly among the grown dogs;
his attitude toward them was less compromising. Not that he went
out of his way looking for trouble.
Far from it. But upon his way he demanded consideration. He
stood upon his right to go his way unmolested and to give trail to
no dog. He had to be taken into account, that was all. He was no
longer to be disregarded and ignored, as was the lot of the puppies
that were his teammates. They got out of the way, gave trail to the
grown dogs, and gave up meat to them under compulsion. But
White Fang, uncompanionable, solitary, morose, scarcely looking
to right or left, redoubtable, forbidding of aspect, remote and alien,
was accepted as an equal by his puzzled elders. They quickly
learned to leave him alone, neither venturing hostile acts nor
making overtures of friendliness. If they left him alone, he left
them alone- a state of affairs that they found, after a few
encounters, to be preeminently desirable.
In midsummer White Fang had an experience. Trotting along in his
silent way to investigate a new tepee which had been erected on
the edge of the village while he was away with the hunters after
moose, he came full upon Kiche. He paused and looked at her. He
remembered her vaguely, but he remembered her, and that was
more than could be said for her. She lifted her lip at him in the old
snarl of menace, and his memory became clear. His forgotten
cubhood, all that was associated with that familiar snarl, rushed
back to him. Before he had known the gods, she had been to him
the centre-pin of the universe. The old familiar feelings of that time
came back upon him, surged up within him. He bounded toward
her joyously, and she met him with shrewd fangs that laid his
cheek open to the bone. He did not understand. He backed away,
bewildered and puzzled.
But it was not Kiche’s fault. A wolf-mother was not made to
remember her cubs of a year or so before. So she did not remember
White Fang. He was a strange animal, an intruder; and her present
litter of puppies gave her the right to resent such intrusions.
One of the puppies sprawled up to White Fang. They were halfbrothers,
only they did not know it. White Fang sniffed the puppy
curiously, whereupon Kiche rushed upon him, gashing his face a
second time. He backed farther away. All the old memories and
associations died down again and passed into the grave from
which they had been resurrected. He had learned to get along