The man pulled himself together and went on, afraid now in a new way. There were wolves. Now and again the wolves, in packs of two and three, crossed his path. They stayed clear of the man, for it was easier to hunt the caribou.
In the late afternoon he came upon the bones of a caribou calf. He sat on the moss and gathered the bones into a heap, and then he chewed them with his bare teeth, trying to get a mouthful of the raw meat. Then he pounded the bones between rocks, beating them into a pulp and swallowed it. In his haste he almost broke some of his fingers, yet he did not mind the hurt.