“Shall I loose them or not?” Nikoláy asked himself as the wolf approached him coming from the copse. Suddenly the wolf’s whole physiognomy changed: she shuddered, seeing what she had probably never seen before⁠—human eyes fixed upon her⁠—and turning her head a little toward Rostóv, she paused.

“Back or forward? Eh, no matter, forward⁠ ⁠…” the wolf seemed to say to herself, and she moved forward without again looking round and with a quiet, long, easy yet resolute lope.