She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. A native sold his supply of nuts in exchange for cloth, tobacco and so forth. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. “Want to see my fangs?” She asked. Shari’s eyes widened, “You mean it?” “I’m all yours, head to toe. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her.
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