THE HOODED CROW 
in December. At last the hare came face to 
face with a great boulder reared upon its end, 
and as he was too weak to climb over it, and the 
overhanging crag gave some protection against 
the blizzard, he crouched down under it, with 
his big frightened eyes fixed upon the waiting 
crows. Hungry as he was, Fionog-liat dared 
not touch eyes as bright as those. It grew 
darker and darker, and still the band watched 
like wolves until the glimmer of life in their 
prey should be quenched ; but every time 
Fionog-liat peered under the stone he met 
Geirr-fiad's steady gaze. At last it was too 
dark to see the plover who swooped and wailed 
in the dim sky overhead, and Fionog-liat knew 
that they must wait no longer. Reluctantly 
he gave the signal, and with hoarse cries the 
three flapped wearily back to Kilcool, weak 
with hunger, the hard snow whipping their 
feathers. 
At dawn the countryside was white, when 
after a preliminary flight over the wood Fionog- 
liat turned to the bogs. Only two of his band 
followed him those two young males who 
had hunted with him ever since he came to 
Kilcool. The keel of their breasts seemed 
almost pricking through their skins, and they 
were weak with famine, but their eyes were 
as fierce and cunning as ever. 
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