The Perfect Hunt — War and Peace

Nicholas waits at his post while the hunt surges and falters in the copse. From the cries of hounds and huntsmen he knows young and old wolves are there, that the packs have split, and that something has gone wrong. Hope and despair trade places. He prays, half ashamed of asking God for a trivial favour, that one old wolf will cross his stand in sight of Uncle and that Karáy will seize it by the throat. Memories of Austerlitz and Dólokhov tell him he is always unlucky at cards and war.

Then a gray-backed wolf with a reddish belly jumps the gully, sure no one sees her. The borzois do not understand: Karáy searches for fleas. Nicholas whispers ulyulyu, looses them, and his horse darts downhill. Mílka gains, then stiffens when the wolf turns. Reddish Lyubím seizes the hindquarters and jumps aside in terror. A strange yellowish borzoi nearly knocks the wolf over and is gashed in the side. Karáy intercepts at last; they roll into the gully with the wolf's throat in his grip, the happiest instant of Nicholas's life, until she thrusts her head up, clicks her teeth, and leaps free. Nicholas cries out in despair.

Uncle's huntsman and borzois hem her again. Daniel, who had checked his horse when Karáy first seized her, now gallops not at the wolf but toward the wood to cut her off, a naked dagger in his left hand. He throws himself on her back among the dogs, whispers not to stab her, gags her with a stick, and binds her legs. They lay the living wolf on a shying horse. Hounds and borzois have killed five cubs. Old Count Rostóv rides up, touches the bound beast, jokes that Daniel is a crusty fellow, and receives a shy, childlike smile that forgives the morning's blunder.