"Werewolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Housman Clarence)

slackened pace, though the path was invisible; and passing through
into the open again, sighted the farm lying a furlong off down the
slope. Then he sprang out freely, and almost on the instant gave
one great sideways leap, and stood still. There in the snow was the
track of a great wolf.

His hand went to his knife, his only weapon. He stooped, knelt
down, to bring his eyes to the level of a beast, and peered about;
his teeth set, his heart beat a little harder than the pace of his
running insisted on. A solitary wolf, nearly always savage and of
large size, is a formidable beast that will not hesitate to attack a
single man. This wolf-track was the largest Christian had ever
seen, and, so far as he could judge, recently made. It led from
under the fir-trees down the slope. Well for him, he thought, was
the delay that had so vexed him before: well for him that he had
not passed through the dark fir-grove when that danger of jaws
lurked there. Going warily, he followed the track.

It led down the slope, across a broad ice-bound stream, along the
level beyond, making towards the farm. A less precise knowledge
had doubted, and guessed that here might have come straying big
Tyr or his like; but Christian was sure, knowing better than to
mistake between footmark of dog and wolf.

Straight on straight on towards the farm.

Surprised and anxious grew Christian, that a prowling wolf should
dare so near. He drew his knife and pressed on, more hastily, more
keen-eyed. Oh that Tyr were with him!

Straight on, straight on, even to the very door, where the snow
failed. His heart seemed to give a great leap and then stop. There
the track ended.

Nothing lurked in the porch, and there was no sign of return. The
firs stood straight against the sky, the clouds lay low; for the wind
had fallen and a few snowfiakes came drifting down. In a horror of
surprise, Christian stood dazed a moment: then he lifted the latch
and went in. His glance took in all the old familiar forms and
faces, and with them that of the stranger, fur-clad and beautiful.
The awful truth flashed upon him: he knew what she was.

Only a few were startled by the rattle of the latch as he entered.
The room was filled with bustle and movement, for it was the
supper hour, when all tools were laid aside, and trestles and tables
shifted. Christian had no knowledge of what he said and did; he
moved and spoke mechanically, half thinking that soon he must
wake from this horrible dream. Sweyn and his mother supposed
him to be cold and dead-tired, and spared all unnecessary
questions. And he found himself seated beside the hearth, opposite