only he might strike the trail of one of those splendid red deer which he had occasionally seen staring over the pasture fence!
His way to the forest led him up through the sheep pasture. The moon was just rising, red and distorted, through the jagged black tops of the fir trees on the ridge, casting long, sinister shadows across the hillocks. The sheep were lying down. He merely glanced at them in passing, for just now he had no mind to look after their protection.
In that moment the picture of the long-limbed grey slayer, as he scattered and tore the flock in the ecstasy of the chase, flashed across Bran's memory. His jaws slavered with a gust of horrid sympathy and understanding. He realized at last that it was sheep he wanted to kill; but not, assuredly not, these sheep! These sheep he had fought for. They were his own. Let any intruder touch them at his peril!
He trotted straight on, then broke into a run, leaped the fence, and plunged into the forest. His purpose was now clear to him, and nothing should turn him from it!
In the woods it was dark, except where the low moon sent long fingers of elfish radiancy between the black trunks and down the silent glades. To Bran, going swiftly and without any thought of secrecy or stealth, the solitude seemed empty of all life; for all the furtive creatures of the wild,
