Kenric left the uneven ground and stepped upon the thick strong ice, which was so clear at the edge that he could even see the shadowy reeds below.  He walked outward with steady steps, and bent his course southward in the shimmering track of the moon’s light.  The lake was very deep, but Kenric had no fear, for the ice was many inches thick and his foothold was sure.

As he reached the middle of the lake, where no sound came to him but the regular tread of his soft hide shoes and the tinkling ring of the ice, a feeling of awe came over him.  He solemnly remembered that it was the last hour of the passing year —­ it might also be his last hour upon earth.  He was not afraid; but the deadly silence, the wan light of the moon, the piercing cold, his lonely situation upon that shining stretch of ice, and his knowledge that he would soon be engaged in a mortal combat, whose results must determine so much for himself and for his people, oppressed his mind very strangely; nor could he dismiss from his thoughts the surprising things that he had heard that day concerning Aasta the Fair.

Suddenly, as he looked before him towards the shore that he was approaching, he was startled at seeing a black shadow upon the ice.  It was as though some human being were lying there.  He saw the figure move.  Slowly, stealthily it crept towards him.  Kenric stood still, taking off his fur gauntlets and putting his hand to his sword.  Then the figure crept more rapidly.  Nearer and yet nearer it came.  He saw now that it was a large animal.  Its glistening eyes and long legs showed that it was a wolf.

He drew his sword and went to meet it.  The wolf growled as in hungry anger, and crouched down as though preparing to spring upon him.  Kenric raised his sword to strike, the wolf bounded forward, and as his weapon was about to descend upon its head the animal swerved.  The moon’s light revealed a white patch of hair upon its breast.

Kenric staggered backward, unwilling now to strike.

“Aasta!” he cried.  “Aasta?  The werewolf?”

At the same moment he loosed his grip of the sword, and the weapon, impelled by the force his arm had given it, flew from his hand, and falling upon the slippery ice skated along for many yards, making a noise like the chirping of a vast flock of finches.

Kenric stepped back yet further and stood ready to meet the wolf, and, if need were, grapple with it.  But the animal, startled at the sound made by the sliding sword, ran off towards the shore and quickly disappeared among the shadows of the trees.

What was the meaning of that wolf being there upon the ice?  Kenric stood in confused wonderment.  And if, as he half supposed, this white-breasted animal was not as other wolves, which fear to tread on ice —­ if it was in very truth the werewolf form which the wild Aasta had power to assume, why had she not recognized him?  Why had she run away?  Was it that she had now taken to the cover of the woods, that she might presently reappear in her own maidenly figure?  There was something in all this that passed his understanding.