Alone, a bundle of ginger fur sat at the edge of the pool, glowering into its depths. It's glassy surface was not a mirror, but more like a window. The scrawny, malnourished copper wolf could look down into it and see his reflection, sure; but he could also look past his reflection, and see that it was this awful place that had done this too him: it had marred him, defiled him. By no means was he vain, since to be thus was very sinful indeed —but Kiche had been comfortable with his appearance, before, when he had looked into the mirrors at home. Now he could see he had transformed. He was twisted and broken and violated. All because of this awful, barren, deadly place. Already, he was beginning to change, he noted with devastated pang in his heart. All this, he could see when he looked through the window of the Hidden Grotto.
Anger lanced at his soul, and then, in an instant, he snapped his jaws and leaped at the water, into the water. No longer did he want to see the ugly creature Hell had made of him. Soaked to the bone, the young wolf stood dripping in the water up that just brushed at his belly. It was freezing, but he was so, so enraged that he forced himself not to care. Why was Pangur letting him live like this? What punishment was he seeking? Where did it end? Was this a test or a lesson? Kiche snarled —a sound and expression he still had not mastered, but found himself using more often— bitterly, wondering what he could possibly learn from this, if there was anything to be taken away from the savages. As far as he was concerned, they had nothing to offer. Then again, Kiche was no God.
But Pangur was. And Pangur chose for Kiche to suffer, so suffer he ought to. Yet, somehow Kiche found that it was his nature to rail angry at this unfair treatment. It was driving him crazy, driving him mad. Lashing out at the water again, Kiche screamed. Where wolves vented through howls, Kiche just shouted, raved, wailed, and screamed. He probably never would, after hearing those chilling voices of savages from the depths of the night. He figured they were part of voodoo rituals, evil things. So instead, he voided his anger in the sound of an angry screech that most wolves probably had never imagined producing.</blockquote>