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White Fang - Jack London

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White Fang by Jack London



Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway.  The
trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of
frost, and they seemed to lean towards each other, black and
ominous, in the fading light.  A vast silence reigned over the
land.  The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without
movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that
of sadness.  There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter
more terrible than any sadness - a laughter that was mirthless as
the smile of the sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking
of the grimness of infallibility.  It was the masterful and
incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life
and the effort of life.  It was the Wild, the savage, frozen-
hearted Northland Wild.

But there WAS life, abroad in the land and defiant.  Down the
frozen waterway toiled a string of wolfish dogs.  Their bristly fur
was rimed with frost.  Their breath froze in the air as it left
their mouths, spouting forth in spumes of vapour that settled upon
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