Chapter 12 Home Again Darkness was falling.
For a while, White Fang played among the trees, happy in his freedom.
He ran quickly, jumping over rocks, searching for squirrels.
He continued to play until all the daylight was gone.
It was a clear night, with many stars and a bright white moon.
White Fang listened to the woods around him.
It was very quiet, much quieter than life in the camp.
Then, quite suddenly, he became aware of loneliness.
He sat down and listened to the silence.
It frightened him.
He suspected danger but had no idea what to expect.
It had been a long time since he was alone or in the wild.
He ran back to the deserted camp.
It was cold, hungry, and scared.
He knew he had made a mistake by staying behind.
He was too used to the comforts of man and to being protected by his master.
He missed the warmth of the fire and the smell of Grey Beaver's pipe.
Right about now, Klukuch would be throwing him a fish for supper.
Mitzah would be telling stories about his day.
He went to the place where Grey Beaver's tent had once stood.
It smelled of his master and family.
He could see the pit that had once held their fire.
The tent had left a round mark on the ground.
He sat down, raised his head to the night sky, and started to howl.
It was a long wolf howl, full-throated and mournful.
This was the first howl he had ever let out.
The coming dawn calmed him down, but he still longed to return to man.
White Fang ran along the riverbank.
He didn't even know where his family had gone, or even if he was running in the right direction.
The wolf worked on instinct.
He spent the day running through the woods and back to the river, crisscrossing the land.
He stopped to listen, hoping to hear the sound of far-off voices or other dogs, but there was only the sound of the wind.
He sniffed the air and along the earth.
He was trying to find some sign of the tribe, but it was hard to follow the scent over the frozen ground.
It was not until the moon was high in the sky again that he smelled something familiar.
It was meat cooking on a fire.
White Fang ran as fast as he could.
Gray Beaver, Klukuch, and Mitza had stopped for the night.
They planned to join the rest of the tribe across the river in the morning.
White Fang sneaked into their camp.
He crept toward the fire.
Klu Kuch was turning meat over the flames while Mitza repaired some leather for the sled dogs.
The family had to be ready for travel when the snow arrived.
White Fang moved to Gray Beaver's side, expecting the usual beating.
He lay quietly beside his master, accepting his fate.
Instead of giving him a hard slap, though, Grey Beaver chuckled.
Well, look who showed up, he said.
He waved his hand to Klukuch, telling her to give the wolf some meat.
The biggest piece you have, he said.
Our wolf has come home.
White Fang lay at Gray Beaver's feet, gazing at the fire that warmed him, blinking and dozing.
He knew that the morning would find him, not in the cold, lonely forest, but safe with man.
By coming back to the camp, White Fang had given up his life in the wild.
He was turning his back on his wolf heritage and choosing his master instead.
He was now completely dependent on man, his food, and his fire.
