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Updated: May 15, 2025
You who are an eater of grasses when you are ill, eat of this Fur Flower, as you name it; then also I will eat in great faith after a little," he added in an undertone. A'tim walked backward a few paces hesitatingly, and, looking wondrous hurt, said in a deprecating voice: "Ghur-r-rh, eu-h-h!
"There," said A'tim, nodding his head at the bronze gold of the many Monkshood, "there is the Fur Flower. It will be dry eating now, being of a season's age, but in the early feed-time it is sweet and tender. While you eat of it I shall rest here." A strong rustling of grass almost at their heels caused the Dog-Wolf to spring to his feet in alarm. "Eu-h-h, eu-h-h! here is the accursed Cow again.
One, two, three large Grubs, full of a white fat, twisted and squirmed at their rude awakening; the Dog-Wolf swallowed them greedily. "Eu-h-h! Hi, yi! Such a tiny morsel," he whined plaintively; "they but give life to the famine pains which were all but dead through starvation. Wait, you, fool Bull I'll crack your ribs with my strong teeth yet! But small as the Grubs are there should be more."
A'tim knew of many muskegs where a stupid, heavy-footed Bull might be mired; also, there was the poison plant, the Death Flower of the Monkshood. He could persuade the stupid Shag to eat of it, and in an hour the Bull would die puffed up like a Cow's udder; it would not hurt the flesh. Eu-h-h! there were many ways.
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