he remembered back to the youth of the breed, to the time the wild dogs ranged in packs through the primeval forest and killed their meats as they ran it down. it was no task for him to learn to fight with cut and slash and quick wolf snap. in this manner had fought forgotten ancestors. they quickened the old life within him, and the old tricks which they had stamped into the heredity of the breeds were his tricks. they came to him without effort or discovery, as though they had been his always. and when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at a star and howling down through the centuries and through him.
call of the wild, jack london