And the next morning he thought of a remedy.
He and his sons went into the forest and felled some trees with their axes. Then they cut them into sharp stakes and, after they had prepared a quantity of these, they planted them in a circle, outside the cave. Then they wove twigs between the stakes and, by sunset, they had a safe and strong pen over which no wolf could jump. Two-Legs put the sheep into it.
A few days later, he caught the ram with his sling. He went on hunting and soon the cow was there and the bull and their calves. The pen was too small and he had to build a bigger one. The whole family went out to fetch grass, but could never bring enough. The animals in the pen bleated and lowed.
At night, they talked together:
“Candidly speaking,” said the sheep, “this existence has its advantages. Down there, in the meadow, one never felt sure of one’s life; first the lion was after one, then the wolf and the snake and the eagle, to say nothing of Two-Legs himself.”
“There’s something in that,” said the cow. “But I can’t stand the way Mrs. Two-Legs pulls at my udders. And then I’m not so sure that they don’t mean to kill me one fine day. There will be too many of us here before long.”
