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Updated: May 14, 2025
So far Warruk had not ventured into the lower regions of the pantenal country that vast world of marshlands, swampy forest islands and pampas bordering the great river compared to which the streams he had been accustomed to frequent in the upper reaches were but rippling brooks. Suma, his mother, had warned him against the region below her own well-defined hunting grounds.
Below, the occasional bellow of a crocodile hidden in the reedy bed of a marsh or the high-pitched wail of the great brown wolf added its note to the clamor of the multitude. Suma spent the nights only in travel. When the approach of day was heralded by the crimson glare in the eastern sky she sought shelter in one of the dark forest islands so liberally sprinkled over the pantenal country.
It was neither more nor less than the enactment of an old, old drama. Warruk drank after each kill. Sometimes that was daily; more often two or three days elapsed between gorges. But, the feast completed, he was always seized with a burning thirst and to quench it he was forced to visit the lagoons as occasion required. By this time his mastery of the pantenal country was pretty well established.
When Suma, the Jaguar, driven from the dismal wastes of the pantenal country by the encroaching floods of the rainy season reached the higher, forested region skirting the Andean foothills, she entered upon a wild orgy of terrorism and slaughter.
The separations became of longer duration the pleasure of the reunions less and less. And, presently Suma lost all thought of Warruk as the time for choosing a mate drew near. As for the cub he was free; free as the wind that swept the wild wastes of land and water comprising the desolate pantenal country. And he reveled in his new liberty.
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