In March, as the days , the sun grew warmer; the snow darkened and ; the grew balmy; and the wolf-packs stirred, while became more abundant, for now all the forest felt the overwhelming, entrancing of Spring, and wandered through the , down the ravines and into the woods, powerless under the sway of the early Spring-time langour; and it was easy to catch them.  
The male-bird brought all his kill to his mate—he ate little himself: only what she left him, usually the entrails, the flesh of the thoracic muscles, the skin and the head, although she usually pecked out the eyes as the most savoury portion.
 
The sun was bright. There was a soft, gentle breeze. At the bottom of the ravine the dark, turbulent rushed gurgling between the sharp outlines of its snow-laden banks.
 
It was cool. The male-bird sat roosting with his eyes closed, his head sunk deep into his shoulders. Outwardly he bore a look of great , of expectation, and a look of guiltiness wholly unbecoming to his natural severity.
 
At dusk he grew restless. He stood up on his feet, stretched his neck, opened wide his round eyes, spread out his wings, beating the air with them: then closed ............