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under. Before her feet cleared the wire, I dropped my hold on the fencing. The taut wire sung in response.
    Without another word, I turned and stalked back to the path. We had never had much of a problem with trespassers . . . now two sons and a group of bird-watchers in less than two days.
    I preferred the sons.
    After leaving our visitors behind, I gave up my stroll.
    I was almost to the house when something hit me from behind. I struck the ground hands first. The nunchakus dug into my palm, and my back screamed. I grunted and sprang back to my feet.
    When I turned, the wolverine son, in his human form and fully dressed in a gray T-shirt and camouflage pants, was waiting.
    “You destroyed my house,” he muttered.
    “You mean that eyesore of a hovel? Was that yours? Who knew?” I kept the nunchakus hidden for now, held up behind my forearm.
    He stepped to the left; I did the same.
    He didn’t appear to be armed, but his pants were baggy with numerous pockets. There was no telling what he had hidden inside them.
    “Where’s the baby?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “I really underestimated you, or maybe overestimated. I can’t believe you are part of this. I really didn’t think you were such a sheep.”
    “A sheep?”
    “Is that your
givnomai,
Zery? You have Mary’s little lamb tattooed on your breast? Is that why you follow instructions so blindly?”
    My temper flared. I raised my arm and let go of one side of the nunchakus. Spinning the weapon, I leapt toward him.
    He jumped to the side, but not fast enough. The wooden club struck him in the side of the head. He grunted.
    “Be careful. It wouldn’t do for a sheep to take down a wolverine.” I spun the rod and moved forward again, but my back had suffered from my last swing. The muscles there contracted, hard. I stumbled.
    He bent at the waist and rushed toward me like a football player planning a tackle. Ignoring the pain shooting through my back, I slashed downward. The rod struck him again, but he didn’t stop. His shoulder hit me in the stomach. My feet left the ground and for a second we were airborne. We hit the ground with a thud.
    He was on top, but only for a second. I grabbed his hair, jerked back his head, and pressed my thumb into his eye. The ache in my back encouraged me to push harder.
    He cursed and flipped so we were both on our sides. The hand I’d been using to push against his eye became trapped under his head, my thumb no longer reaching his socket.
    He twisted his face and bit me. Pain shot through my hand where his teeth had sunk into skin and muscle. Then before I could react, he shoved the side of my face into the earth. I inhaled dirt and dead grass, was forced to open my mouth to breathe.
    I still held the nunchaku. I lifted my arm and swung down, aiming for his face and neck, but my efforts were weak. He reached for my attacking arm and grabbed me by the wrist.
    My curse was swallowed by the earth.
    I tried to twist my wrist free, but at the current angle and in my current condition, I couldn’t. So I resorted to the trick that had worked before; I lifted my knee and aimed for his groin.
    He rolled again. My knee hit his thigh, but my face was free. I could breathe, which meant I could fight. I balled my fingers into a fist and smashed him in the nose.
    He grinned. His face was stained with blood, mine and his, and he grinned.
    I struck him again.
    “Maybe a butterfly? Is that your
givnomai
? Your touch is so gentle . . . ”
    Again he rolled, slinging one thigh over my legs as he did, trying to hold me in place. I groped the ground as we rolled and my fingers found a rock. I concentrated on his taunts and slammed it into his skull.
    This time his grip loosened.
    I shoved him to the side and staggered to my feet.
    My nunchakus were gone, but I still held the rock, and as he sprung up after me, I held it where he could see it.
    “Nice,” he murmured. Blood flowed from his scalp an inch or so behind his temple. He touched two