The cub’s development was rapid. After resting for two days, he ventured out again and successfully hunted the young weasel whose mother he had helped eat. This time, he did not get lost. Whenever he grew tired, he found his way back to the cave to sleep. With every passing day, he explored a wider area, gaining a more accurate measurement of his own strengths and weaknesses.
He learned that it was expedient to be cautious at all times, except during those rare moments when he abandoned himself to his petty rages. He became a little demon of fury whenever he encountered a ptarmigan or the squirrel that chattered at him from the blasted pine. However, he remained wary of the hawk. Its moving shadow still sent him crouching into the nearest thicket, but he was already developing his mother’s gait—a slinking, furtive movement that allowed him to slide through the forest with deceptive speed.
The cub held a deep respect for his mother. To him, she represented absolute power. She was unafraid of the world and never failed to bring him his share of meat. As he grew older, her discipline became more severe; the gentle nudges of her nose were replaced by the sharp slash of her fangs. He accepted this without question; she compelled obedience, and he respected her for it.
Famine returned, and with it, the cub felt the sharp bite of hunger once more. The she-wolf grew thin as she hunted day and night, usually in vain. During this time, the cub stopped hunting for play and began to hunt in earnest. He studied wood-mice and squirrels with intense focus, but he found nothing. His desperation grew so great that he once sat in an open space and challenged a hawk in the sky, hoping for battle. But the hawk ignored him, and the cub was left to whimper in disappointment.
Eventually, the famine broke when the she-wolf brought home a new kind of meat: a lynx kitten. She had already satisfied her own hunger by devouring the rest of the litter, leaving this one for her cub. He ate greedily, growing stronger with every mouthful.
Later, while the cub was sleeping against his mother’s side, he was awakened by the most terrible snarl he had ever heard. The mother lynx had come to avenge her lost litter. In the afternoon light at the cave’s entrance, the cub saw the predator. She let out a piercing screech of rage that made the hair on his back stand up.
The cub stood valiantly by his mother, snarling at the intruder, but the she-wolf pushed him safely behind her. Because of the low roof, the lynx had to crawl into the cave. As she did, the she-wolf sprang. A chaotic battle of spitting, biting, and scratching followed. The lynx used both her teeth and her razor-sharp claws, while the she-wolf relied on her powerful jaws.
In a moment of bravery, the cub sprang forward and sank his teeth into the lynx's hind leg. By hanging on with all his weight, he hindered the lynx's movements and saved his mother from further injury. The lynx eventually lashed out with a massive paw, ripping the cub’s shoulder to the bone and sending him crashing against the wall. Despite the agonizing pain, he eventually returned to the fight, clinging to the lynx’s leg until the struggle ended.
The lynx was dead, but the victory had come at a high price. The she-wolf was weak and exhausted. For an entire day and night, she lay motionless beside her fallen enemy. She did not leave the cave for a week, except to drink water. During that time, they devoured the lynx, and the she-wolf’s wounds slowly began to heal.
The cub’s shoulder remained stiff and sore, causing him to limp, but his spirit had changed. He moved through the world with a new sense of prowess. He had fought a formidable foe and survived. Much of his previous timidity had vanished, replaced by a touch of defiance.
He began to accompany his mother on the trail, and through these experiences, he gradually understood the "Law of Meat." He realized there were two kinds of life: his own kind—meaning himself and his mother—and everything else. The "everything else" was further divided: there were creatures that his kind killed and ate, and there were creatures that sought to kill and eat his kind.
From this, a simple, brutal law emerged: EAT OR BE EATEN.
He did not think about this law in a philosophical way; he simply lived it. Life was meat, and the world was a place where various appetites pursued one another in a never-ending cycle of hunting and being hunted. To run down meat was a thrill; to fill his stomach was a great satisfaction. Despite the violence and the constant threat of the unknown, the cub was happy. He was expressing his true nature, and life is always at its peak when it is doing exactly what it was designed to do. He was alive, he was a killer, and he was proud.