White Fang knew the law well: to oppress the weak and obey the strong.
White Fang knew the law well: to oppress the weak and obey the strong.
White Fang was glad to acknowledge his lordship, but it was lordship based upon superior intelligence and brute strength...There were deeps in his nature which had never been sounded. A kind word, a caressing touch of the hand, on the part of Gray Beaver, might have sounded these deeps; but Gray Beaver did not caress nor speak kind words. It was not his way.
Fang looked at the newest bird kid. Dylan was an inch or two taller than he was, and somewhat heavier built, though he still had the long, lean look of a human-avian hybrid-you couldn't make bricks fly.
He had killed man, the noblest game of all, and he had killed in the face of the law of club and fang.
And so it came that White Fang learned that the right to punish was something the gods reserved for themselves and denied to the lesser creatures under them.
But nobody else ever romped with White Fang. He did not permit it. He stood on his dignity, and when they attempted it, his warning snarl and bristling mane were anything but playful. That he allowed the master these liberties was no reason that he should be a common dog, loving here and loving there, everybody's property for a romp and good time. He loved with single heart and refused to cheapen himself or his love.
His eyes were likewise greeted by White Fang, but about the latter there were no signs of shame nor guilt. He carried himself with pride, as though, forsooth, he had achieved a deed praiseworthy and meritorious. There was about him no consciousness of sin.
Only one thing mattered: this was not a Horcrux. Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that horrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand and his eyes burned with tears as behind him Fang began to howl.
For Fang, getting out of bed in the morning is a career move
There is poison in the fang of the serpent, in the mouth of the fly and in the sting of a scorpion; but the wicked man is saturated with it.
. . . these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean's skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang.
Or when we hark't to nightingales that sang
On dewy eves in spring, did they entice
To gentler love than winter's icy fang?
I've been asked to say a couple of words about my husband, Fang. How about short and cheap?
I have only ever read one book in my life, and that is White Fang. It's so frightfully good I've never bothered to read another.
I read some, and then visited with people involved in this curious, exciting and somewhat misunderstood sub-culture. I met with a fang maker, who offered to fit me for an exquisite pair.
The wolf attacks with his fang, the bull with his horn. Dente lupus, cornu taurus petit.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories