birdâand then theyâd be back....
Seizing the meat, he bolted, heading straight for the center of the mall. They were squealing behind him once more, giving chase, but at least heâd escaped the trap of that table. Lucky pounded on, pain jabbing sharply at his wounded paw, his lungs aching, his whole body feeling heavy and awkward now. He felt the first wrench of despair in his gut. The foxes were going to get him.
Close to the entrance the displays of longpaw treasure seemed more cluttered. No longpaw thief or scavenging dog had bothered to take the brightly colored beads and bottles. A whole rack of them crashed to the ground as Lucky slammed sideways into it, then veered around another high counter and leaped over a broken shelf. At least all the clutter was holding up the foxes, too; he could hear them stumbling and skidding behind him.
A rack of small bottles went tumbling and shattering, sending sickeningly powerful scents to assault his nose. High ground , he thought. I should find high ground . Somewhere to make a stand, somewhere to stay safe â¦
There . Lucky bounded toward a tall counter, scattering paper and strange metal machines, the biggest of which fell to the floor. It exploded open, paper and small metal discs scattering everywhere, and Lucky nearly followed it, sliding helplessly on the smooth surface. Scrabbling, he managed to halt on the countertop at last and spring to his feet.
Panting hard, he stared down at the circling, grinning foxes.
âCanât stay up,â came a menacing growl. âNo, canât, silly dog. Not forever.â
âMust come down!â said another.
âSoon, boys. Soon.â The hissing snarl was confident enough to send a thrill of fear through Luckyâs shivering flanks.
They were right, he realized. He couldnât stay up here forever. He could take another flying leap, of course, over their heads and away, but the terrible pain in his paw had finally overcome the thrill of the chase. The stabbing of the wound was a pure white agony that almost made him dizzy.
Luckyâs flanks rose and fell swiftly with his desperate breath. Had this really been worth it, for one chunk of meat?
The answer came straight from his wild instinct: a fury that raced through him, humming in his limbs and flanks, his muscles preparing for a last fight. Of course it was worth it .
He was bigger and better than these foxes. Submit to these creatures, and he was unworthy of being a dog.
Besides, in the new world after the Big Growl, it wasnât cowards who would survive. It was the brave, and the strong, and the determined. And he would not give up his rightful prey!
He laid the meat between his forepaws, prepared to guard it to the deathâjust as Old Hunter would. Lowering his head, raising his hackles high, and baring his teeth in a lethal snarl, he summoned all his energy for one last wild bark of rage and defiance.
And then he hesitated.
The strange noise seemed to come from nowhere. It certainly didnât come from him or the foxes. And yet it was there, swelling to fill the echoing hall.
A low, menacing growl.
Suddenly nervous, the foxes twitched their heads from side to side, ears pricked. In an instant, all four had sprung around to face the shattered entrance.
Scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, Lucky stared over the foxes at the group that was approaching. Dogsâmore dogs!
A little crossbreed, short-legged and hairy-faced, her pink tongue poking out in excitement. A sleek black-and-white Farm-Work Dog, clutching a huge leather item in his mouth. A Fight Dog, with a long snout and a bushy coat, whose eyes were full of hectic fear. A small thing, with long white hair. And a giant, furry black dog with a broad head and determined eyes.
They barely gave Lucky a glance, all their nervous attention focused on the foxes. They were such a strange Pack. Then the last dog entered. She was handsome and long-legged, with
Seizing the meat, he bolted, heading straight for the center of the mall. They were squealing behind him once more, giving chase, but at least heâd escaped the trap of that table. Lucky pounded on, pain jabbing sharply at his wounded paw, his lungs aching, his whole body feeling heavy and awkward now. He felt the first wrench of despair in his gut. The foxes were going to get him.
Close to the entrance the displays of longpaw treasure seemed more cluttered. No longpaw thief or scavenging dog had bothered to take the brightly colored beads and bottles. A whole rack of them crashed to the ground as Lucky slammed sideways into it, then veered around another high counter and leaped over a broken shelf. At least all the clutter was holding up the foxes, too; he could hear them stumbling and skidding behind him.
A rack of small bottles went tumbling and shattering, sending sickeningly powerful scents to assault his nose. High ground , he thought. I should find high ground . Somewhere to make a stand, somewhere to stay safe â¦
There . Lucky bounded toward a tall counter, scattering paper and strange metal machines, the biggest of which fell to the floor. It exploded open, paper and small metal discs scattering everywhere, and Lucky nearly followed it, sliding helplessly on the smooth surface. Scrabbling, he managed to halt on the countertop at last and spring to his feet.
Panting hard, he stared down at the circling, grinning foxes.
âCanât stay up,â came a menacing growl. âNo, canât, silly dog. Not forever.â
âMust come down!â said another.
âSoon, boys. Soon.â The hissing snarl was confident enough to send a thrill of fear through Luckyâs shivering flanks.
They were right, he realized. He couldnât stay up here forever. He could take another flying leap, of course, over their heads and away, but the terrible pain in his paw had finally overcome the thrill of the chase. The stabbing of the wound was a pure white agony that almost made him dizzy.
Luckyâs flanks rose and fell swiftly with his desperate breath. Had this really been worth it, for one chunk of meat?
The answer came straight from his wild instinct: a fury that raced through him, humming in his limbs and flanks, his muscles preparing for a last fight. Of course it was worth it .
He was bigger and better than these foxes. Submit to these creatures, and he was unworthy of being a dog.
Besides, in the new world after the Big Growl, it wasnât cowards who would survive. It was the brave, and the strong, and the determined. And he would not give up his rightful prey!
He laid the meat between his forepaws, prepared to guard it to the deathâjust as Old Hunter would. Lowering his head, raising his hackles high, and baring his teeth in a lethal snarl, he summoned all his energy for one last wild bark of rage and defiance.
And then he hesitated.
The strange noise seemed to come from nowhere. It certainly didnât come from him or the foxes. And yet it was there, swelling to fill the echoing hall.
A low, menacing growl.
Suddenly nervous, the foxes twitched their heads from side to side, ears pricked. In an instant, all four had sprung around to face the shattered entrance.
Scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, Lucky stared over the foxes at the group that was approaching. Dogsâmore dogs!
A little crossbreed, short-legged and hairy-faced, her pink tongue poking out in excitement. A sleek black-and-white Farm-Work Dog, clutching a huge leather item in his mouth. A Fight Dog, with a long snout and a bushy coat, whose eyes were full of hectic fear. A small thing, with long white hair. And a giant, furry black dog with a broad head and determined eyes.
They barely gave Lucky a glance, all their nervous attention focused on the foxes. They were such a strange Pack. Then the last dog entered. She was handsome and long-legged, with
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