1 Here, in the old lair, he encountered Kiche.
2 A lynx's lair is not despoiled with impunity.
3 Here, in the abandoned lair, he settled down and rested for a day.
4 The stream, the lair, and the quiet woods were calling to him, and he wanted her to come.
5 He ranged far and wide, and slept but little in the lair that had now become cheerless and miserable.
6 Five or six miles from the lair, the stream divided, its forks going off among the mountains at a right angle.
7 When morning came and a dim light pervaded the lair, he again sought after the source of the remotely familiar sounds.
8 It was during this period that he might have harkened to the memories of the lair and the stream and run back to the Wild.
9 There were many signs of the battle that had been fought, and of the lynx's withdrawal to her lair after having won the victory.
10 At the forks he took the turning to the left, where he found the lair of the lynx with whom his mother and he had fought long before.
11 Before she went away, the she-wolf had found this lair, but the signs told her that the lynx was inside, and she had not dared to venture in.
12 Not for nothing had he first seen the light of day in a lonely lair and fought his first fights with the ptarmigan, the weasel, and the lynx.
White Fang By Jack LondonContextHighlight In PART 4: CHAPTER I THE ENEMY OF HIS KIND
13 For she knew that in the lynx's lair was a litter of kittens, and she knew the lynx for a fierce, bad-tempered creature and a terrible fighter.
14 Its limits were the walls of the lair; but as he had no knowledge of the wide world outside, he was never oppressed by the narrow confines of his existence.
15 Once again he lived in the lair with Kiche, crept trembling to the knees of Grey Beaver to tender his allegiance, ran for his life before Lip-lip and all the howling bedlam of the puppy-pack.
White Fang By Jack LondonContextHighlight In PART 5: CHAPTER V THE SLEEPING WOLF
16 But White Fang's throat had become harsh-fibred from the making of ferocious sounds through the many years since his first little rasp of anger in the lair of his cubhood, and he could not soften the sounds of that throat now to express the gentleness he felt.
17 But the Wild is the Wild, and motherhood is motherhood, at all times fiercely protective whether in the Wild or out of it; and the time was to come when the she-wolf, for her grey cub's sake, would venture the left fork, and the lair in the rocks, and the lynx's wrath.
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