When the steam parted a few minutes later, Peg appeared, flapping her way over the northwest wall. She cooed and squawked and beat her wings together to rouse the creatures of the field from their holes and hiding spots.
"Dogs all gone. General gone. Big mean dog gone. We win! We win!" She repeated this last part excitedly as she flew around the field.
Humboldt jumped to his feet and led the mice in a series of cheers. Sergei and Mitzi cawed happily. The old squirrel danced about with bewildered pigeons, tripping over his own trip wires.
Harlequin sat in the midst of the celebration, his face blank and his eyes fixed on the door in the alleyway. Peg swooped to his side and landed gamely on her sole foot. She cackled in laughter.
"The Big Dog chased me right into human building. Humans were very angry, caught dog. Didn't catch me," she crowed.
"We won battle," she continued, smacking precociously at Harlequin's slumped back with her wings. "Dogs all gone!"
"Hubert's gone," Harlequin mumbled. "The man..."
Peg blinked. She did not understand. Harlequin sniffed a little and shed one tear. With a cough, he cleared his throat, and turned to face Peg, bright resolution renewed in his face.
"You're right. We did win." Harlequin hopped spryly to his feet and joined in the celebration. Within a few moments, Harlequin's sadness departed, replaced by the glorious new ideas he had for the field.
"We're to make this field an animal city for all the animals lost in the human city!" he shouted to cheers led by the zealous Humboldt.
Indeed, they did. The legend of the mighty chipmunk who defeated a demon cat and an entire pack of dogs spread far and wide, and with it travelled the hope of freedom and safety in the city. Animals of every stripe, feather and scale would flock to the field: new friends, new resources and new problems for Harlequin and his band.
THE END (Rough Draft)
Aug 13, 2005
Aug 12, 2005
HR, 41
Billows of steam swept over the field, enveloping Harlequin, the General and the creatures hiding from him.
Though sure of his own death, Harlequin found strange comfort in the steam. It had the light, pleasant scent of rice, and it warmed his aching limbs.
The General was apparently hypnotized by it; he stopped his dreaded approach and remained still.
A footstep sounded from the alley; it was a heavy step, certainly much heavier than a dogs. It sounded again rhythmically. These were sure, steady footsteps.
Harlequin, momentarily relieved of his fears, cracked an eye open and strained to perceive a shadowy figure of a man moving forward through the steam. He saw the form reach with it's arm and bring up an object in it's grasp. Light caught the object and reflected back sharply, rays cutting paths through the steam; it was a blade, a butcher's knife.
Harlequin turned, dazed to see the shadow of the General. He was crouched defensively. A growl rumbled from his belly; it was a fearful growl, Harlequin noted with astonishment. The man approached the General, moving forward in great steps as the General slowly backed away. Silently, the man raised the butcher's knife above his head. It's deadly edge glinted in the sun.
The General did not wait for it to come down; he sprang backwards and bounded off the field, his image vanishing in the steam.
Harlequin saw the man come closer. His face was still obscured, but Harlequin saw that we was robed in black, with bright red stitching visible through the cloudiness.
"Ahhhh, the good dog," an accented voice sounded from the direction of the man. It suddenly struck Harlequin that this had been the same voice he'd heard just before Attila had disappeared.
The man bent down and coddled Hubert's limp form into his arms and lifted him quietly. Turning away from Harlequin, he walked off into the steam. Harlequin heard the creak of the door and a thud as it closed.
Though sure of his own death, Harlequin found strange comfort in the steam. It had the light, pleasant scent of rice, and it warmed his aching limbs.
The General was apparently hypnotized by it; he stopped his dreaded approach and remained still.
A footstep sounded from the alley; it was a heavy step, certainly much heavier than a dogs. It sounded again rhythmically. These were sure, steady footsteps.
Harlequin, momentarily relieved of his fears, cracked an eye open and strained to perceive a shadowy figure of a man moving forward through the steam. He saw the form reach with it's arm and bring up an object in it's grasp. Light caught the object and reflected back sharply, rays cutting paths through the steam; it was a blade, a butcher's knife.
Harlequin turned, dazed to see the shadow of the General. He was crouched defensively. A growl rumbled from his belly; it was a fearful growl, Harlequin noted with astonishment. The man approached the General, moving forward in great steps as the General slowly backed away. Silently, the man raised the butcher's knife above his head. It's deadly edge glinted in the sun.
The General did not wait for it to come down; he sprang backwards and bounded off the field, his image vanishing in the steam.
Harlequin saw the man come closer. His face was still obscured, but Harlequin saw that we was robed in black, with bright red stitching visible through the cloudiness.
"Ahhhh, the good dog," an accented voice sounded from the direction of the man. It suddenly struck Harlequin that this had been the same voice he'd heard just before Attila had disappeared.
The man bent down and coddled Hubert's limp form into his arms and lifted him quietly. Turning away from Harlequin, he walked off into the steam. Harlequin heard the creak of the door and a thud as it closed.
Aug 11, 2005
HR, 40
The General was obviously angry and not in the mood for dimplomacy, but Harlequin tried anyway.
"Listen, General," he said, his paws poised at their stations on the lighter. ""There's really no reason we can't live peacably in each other's presence. There's ample food for all," he nodded his head towards the Chinese restaurant, and then produced a pristine sytrofoam container he'd found in one of the white trash bags. He opened it to reveal an untouched meatball, glistening under sweet and sour sauce.
"Man-made filth," spat the General, his eyes fixed on Harlequin. He moved steadily forward as he spoke. "Fool of a chipmunk. This is my field, and all who remain on it are mine, to command or to eat; whatever I wish. You have no scheme, no skill, and no game that will stop me. Run if you'd like, I will catch you."
Harlequin shook his head grimly and sparked the lighter. A small bluish flame hovered from it's tip; he immediately set the stone-and-leaf ball in the spoon alight. The General closed and leapt towards Harlequin, mouth ajar, teeth bared. Hubert released his paw; the fireball rocketed from the shuddering spoon and disappeared into the General's open mouth. The General was bowled over: he staggered about, his face contorted in pain.
"You don't think we've killed him, do you?" asked Harlequin horrified.
With a terrible cough, the General spat the ball from his mouth; it rolled along the ground, slobbery but still sizzling.
The General laughed hoarsely. "Hubert, old friend. I hope you didn't mean to do that. Strange courage from an old heap like you."
Hubert looked down sadly at Harlequin. His eyes were bigger than ever, and his folds drooped even more so than before.
"You better run away, now, little one. You done good," Hubert whispered in his deep baritone. With his padded paw, he swept Harlequin behind him, and turned to face the General.
"Out of my way, old one," rasped the General, looking around him to try and see Harlequin.
Hubert leapt up and brought his two front paws crashing onto the General's unsuspecting head and knocking him to the ground. Harlequin watched from the grass as Hubert bared his teeth in a snarl; it was the first time he'd seen him look angry.
With a roar, the General snapped his scarred head upwards, catching Hubert full on the jaw and knocking him backward. In a flash, the General was on him, bringing his powerful jaws down with crushing on Hubert's unprotected flank. Hubert struck back in pain, his paws pounding desperately on the sides of the General's head. The General batted them off and raked at Hubert's face.
Harlequin couldn't bare to look, but he couldn't bring himself to run. He dug his claws in the ground as he heard the sounds of the struggle. He heard a great cry and then silence; he looked up anxiously. The General, rose from the ground, bloodied and limping. Hubert lay still on the ground.
The General grinned with crimsoned teeth. Harlequin could not move; he closed his eyes.
He heard the the General's dragging footsteps and then, from somewhere behind him, he heard the familiar creak of a door.
"Listen, General," he said, his paws poised at their stations on the lighter. ""There's really no reason we can't live peacably in each other's presence. There's ample food for all," he nodded his head towards the Chinese restaurant, and then produced a pristine sytrofoam container he'd found in one of the white trash bags. He opened it to reveal an untouched meatball, glistening under sweet and sour sauce.
"Man-made filth," spat the General, his eyes fixed on Harlequin. He moved steadily forward as he spoke. "Fool of a chipmunk. This is my field, and all who remain on it are mine, to command or to eat; whatever I wish. You have no scheme, no skill, and no game that will stop me. Run if you'd like, I will catch you."
Harlequin shook his head grimly and sparked the lighter. A small bluish flame hovered from it's tip; he immediately set the stone-and-leaf ball in the spoon alight. The General closed and leapt towards Harlequin, mouth ajar, teeth bared. Hubert released his paw; the fireball rocketed from the shuddering spoon and disappeared into the General's open mouth. The General was bowled over: he staggered about, his face contorted in pain.
"You don't think we've killed him, do you?" asked Harlequin horrified.
With a terrible cough, the General spat the ball from his mouth; it rolled along the ground, slobbery but still sizzling.
The General laughed hoarsely. "Hubert, old friend. I hope you didn't mean to do that. Strange courage from an old heap like you."
Hubert looked down sadly at Harlequin. His eyes were bigger than ever, and his folds drooped even more so than before.
"You better run away, now, little one. You done good," Hubert whispered in his deep baritone. With his padded paw, he swept Harlequin behind him, and turned to face the General.
"Out of my way, old one," rasped the General, looking around him to try and see Harlequin.
Hubert leapt up and brought his two front paws crashing onto the General's unsuspecting head and knocking him to the ground. Harlequin watched from the grass as Hubert bared his teeth in a snarl; it was the first time he'd seen him look angry.
With a roar, the General snapped his scarred head upwards, catching Hubert full on the jaw and knocking him backward. In a flash, the General was on him, bringing his powerful jaws down with crushing on Hubert's unprotected flank. Hubert struck back in pain, his paws pounding desperately on the sides of the General's head. The General batted them off and raked at Hubert's face.
Harlequin couldn't bare to look, but he couldn't bring himself to run. He dug his claws in the ground as he heard the sounds of the struggle. He heard a great cry and then silence; he looked up anxiously. The General, rose from the ground, bloodied and limping. Hubert lay still on the ground.
The General grinned with crimsoned teeth. Harlequin could not move; he closed his eyes.
He heard the the General's dragging footsteps and then, from somewhere behind him, he heard the familiar creak of a door.
Aug 10, 2005
HR, 39
Jasper, Scout and Toothless followed Dorian's lead and bolted from the field.
Hell, still unable to untangle himself from the wires felt the full force of the birds' attack. He writhed about violently, knocking the wind from several would-be opponents. With a thundering series of barks and snarls, he sought to scare off the weaker-minded birds.
Peg was undeterred. Again and again she dove within a wing's breadth of Hell's gnashing teeth, to peck and scratch at his sensitive ears and cheeks. Hell became more and more enraged, foaming at the mouth in his fury.
Ignoring Peg's attacks for a moment, Hell twisted his barrel-like neck towards his hindlegs, which were coiled in copper wire. With a powerful tug from his jaw, he snapped the wires like old thread and sprang to his feet. Peg had just begun her dive, and desperately spun away as she saw white teeth rising up to her. Hell came away with a mouth full of feathers.
Behind him the General, fighting off a crow, shouted for Hell to aid him in destroying the bright light. Hell ignored the voice, spitting out feathers. Peg the pigeon was now in retreat and Hell gave chase. Hopping a few paces on her one leg, and flying awkwardly for a few feet was Peg, maintaining a short distance from Hell's eager jaws. Soon she was off the field and out of sight, and Hell followed without so much as a look back.
The General set himself into a barking rage at the disappearance of his Pack.
"No more games!" he roared. Ignoring bird pecks and mouse bites, he pressed on, pushing through wires and towards the painful light. The distance closed quickly and he thrashed the makeshift mirror with his paw. The animals around him scattered for cover. The General could scarcely see: light-spots still blocked his vision. He saw a form trying to make its way out from under the cardboard of the mirror. With cat-like agility, he brought his paw down on its tail setting it squealing in panic. Squinting at it, he thought it might be Harlequin the chipmunk.
"If it isn't the chipmunk who spoke so boldly? Tell me: is this how you killed Attila?" The General laughed. The creature could only manage frightened whimpers in response.
"You're fight's with me General," came the distinctive voice of Harlequin, a few yards ahead.
The General squinted at the source of the voice and made out to blurry figures. He released the creature under his paw, a mouse, and proceeded towards them with a growl.
Harlequin stood by his spoon catapult, lighter in hand. Hubert, recently escaped from the wires, held the bowl down, and panted anxiously as the General drew nearer.
Hell, still unable to untangle himself from the wires felt the full force of the birds' attack. He writhed about violently, knocking the wind from several would-be opponents. With a thundering series of barks and snarls, he sought to scare off the weaker-minded birds.
Peg was undeterred. Again and again she dove within a wing's breadth of Hell's gnashing teeth, to peck and scratch at his sensitive ears and cheeks. Hell became more and more enraged, foaming at the mouth in his fury.
Ignoring Peg's attacks for a moment, Hell twisted his barrel-like neck towards his hindlegs, which were coiled in copper wire. With a powerful tug from his jaw, he snapped the wires like old thread and sprang to his feet. Peg had just begun her dive, and desperately spun away as she saw white teeth rising up to her. Hell came away with a mouth full of feathers.
Behind him the General, fighting off a crow, shouted for Hell to aid him in destroying the bright light. Hell ignored the voice, spitting out feathers. Peg the pigeon was now in retreat and Hell gave chase. Hopping a few paces on her one leg, and flying awkwardly for a few feet was Peg, maintaining a short distance from Hell's eager jaws. Soon she was off the field and out of sight, and Hell followed without so much as a look back.
The General set himself into a barking rage at the disappearance of his Pack.
"No more games!" he roared. Ignoring bird pecks and mouse bites, he pressed on, pushing through wires and towards the painful light. The distance closed quickly and he thrashed the makeshift mirror with his paw. The animals around him scattered for cover. The General could scarcely see: light-spots still blocked his vision. He saw a form trying to make its way out from under the cardboard of the mirror. With cat-like agility, he brought his paw down on its tail setting it squealing in panic. Squinting at it, he thought it might be Harlequin the chipmunk.
"If it isn't the chipmunk who spoke so boldly? Tell me: is this how you killed Attila?" The General laughed. The creature could only manage frightened whimpers in response.
"You're fight's with me General," came the distinctive voice of Harlequin, a few yards ahead.
The General squinted at the source of the voice and made out to blurry figures. He released the creature under his paw, a mouse, and proceeded towards them with a growl.
Harlequin stood by his spoon catapult, lighter in hand. Hubert, recently escaped from the wires, held the bowl down, and panted anxiously as the General drew nearer.
Aug 9, 2005
HR, 38
The Pack appeared from behind the wall, looking fierce and confident. They had scared the man away and we're ready to feast on the lesser creatures.
When Dorian saw Hubert some ten yards ahead of him, tripping and stumbling over unseen objects in the field, he merely laughed scornfully and made a mean comment about Hubert's long ears and floppy skin. His laugh was cut short as one of his paws stopped on something in the grass and he fell painfully onto his snout.
All around him, the rest of the Pack were unwittingly discovering similar traps and hitting the ground.
"They've rigged the whole field," the General growled, trying to regain his footing. "Think they're real clever, don't they? Take it slow, you lot. You'll only fall down harder if you run."
Jasper had just tried to overcome the obstacles by running as fast as he could and now lay stunned on the ground.
"Show them the mirror!" came a shout from further ahead in the grass. It was Harlequin. The dogs looked up to find the chipmunk, and saw a cardboard slab raised a few yards ahead of them.
"Arrgh!"Dorian squealed. He was the closest and received the bright flash of reflected night with no warning. The rest of the dogs looked away, blinking their eyes, but quickly became re-entangled in the wires.
The General snarled inwardly, rolling about to get his hindpaw out from under a copper-wire. The chipmunk and his gang were more resourceful than he'd imagined. He heard flapping just above him and saw a crunched up bottle of motor oil land beside him, splashing blackish ooze all over his face. The powerful smell drenched his sensitive nose, sending him into a coughing fit.
All around the dogs, birds dropped whatever smelly pieces of garbage Humboldt had found; a particularly aromatic package of spoiled, bloody meat landed on Hell's massive head. Hell thrashed about wildly, thinking some beast was upon, inadvertently tying himself up in lengths of copper wire. The rest of the Pack was in similar disarray, fumbling about in the wrong directions, tripping, sneezing and cursing.
Dorian's eyes had begun to recover and he pressed on angrily to bite whoever held up the bright light. Glancing forward under heavy eyelids, he thought he saw black silhouettes approaching. He sniffed to sense if his eyes were deceiving him, but he could only smell the bleach soaked rag a bird had droped in front of him. Suddenly, sounding from just beside his ear, he heard the chipmunk yell shrilly.
"Bite and run! Bite and run!"Dorian heard him say and felt something brush past his side. He snarled and yapped blindly; the cursed light kept him from seeing anything.
"Yeeeeoooww!" he yelped. Something had just bitten into his paw. He clawed at the ground, bot no one was there. He leapt in pain as something sank it's teeth into it's tail. He reacted quickly enough to send a mouse flying off into the grass this time.
He felt two taloned feet strike at the small of his back, knocking him to the ground. Sparrows pecked and scratched at him, black shadows against the blinding light. Dorian sprang to his feet, yelping helplessly. Again the birds came, this time from behind him. He heard the pained cries of dogs around him and saw nothing of the General or big, old Hell.
When he saw another black outline rushing at him, he didn't bother to snap at it; he ran as fast as he could the other way.
When Dorian saw Hubert some ten yards ahead of him, tripping and stumbling over unseen objects in the field, he merely laughed scornfully and made a mean comment about Hubert's long ears and floppy skin. His laugh was cut short as one of his paws stopped on something in the grass and he fell painfully onto his snout.
All around him, the rest of the Pack were unwittingly discovering similar traps and hitting the ground.
"They've rigged the whole field," the General growled, trying to regain his footing. "Think they're real clever, don't they? Take it slow, you lot. You'll only fall down harder if you run."
Jasper had just tried to overcome the obstacles by running as fast as he could and now lay stunned on the ground.
"Show them the mirror!" came a shout from further ahead in the grass. It was Harlequin. The dogs looked up to find the chipmunk, and saw a cardboard slab raised a few yards ahead of them.
"Arrgh!"Dorian squealed. He was the closest and received the bright flash of reflected night with no warning. The rest of the dogs looked away, blinking their eyes, but quickly became re-entangled in the wires.
The General snarled inwardly, rolling about to get his hindpaw out from under a copper-wire. The chipmunk and his gang were more resourceful than he'd imagined. He heard flapping just above him and saw a crunched up bottle of motor oil land beside him, splashing blackish ooze all over his face. The powerful smell drenched his sensitive nose, sending him into a coughing fit.
All around the dogs, birds dropped whatever smelly pieces of garbage Humboldt had found; a particularly aromatic package of spoiled, bloody meat landed on Hell's massive head. Hell thrashed about wildly, thinking some beast was upon, inadvertently tying himself up in lengths of copper wire. The rest of the Pack was in similar disarray, fumbling about in the wrong directions, tripping, sneezing and cursing.
Dorian's eyes had begun to recover and he pressed on angrily to bite whoever held up the bright light. Glancing forward under heavy eyelids, he thought he saw black silhouettes approaching. He sniffed to sense if his eyes were deceiving him, but he could only smell the bleach soaked rag a bird had droped in front of him. Suddenly, sounding from just beside his ear, he heard the chipmunk yell shrilly.
"Bite and run! Bite and run!"Dorian heard him say and felt something brush past his side. He snarled and yapped blindly; the cursed light kept him from seeing anything.
"Yeeeeoooww!" he yelped. Something had just bitten into his paw. He clawed at the ground, bot no one was there. He leapt in pain as something sank it's teeth into it's tail. He reacted quickly enough to send a mouse flying off into the grass this time.
He felt two taloned feet strike at the small of his back, knocking him to the ground. Sparrows pecked and scratched at him, black shadows against the blinding light. Dorian sprang to his feet, yelping helplessly. Again the birds came, this time from behind him. He heard the pained cries of dogs around him and saw nothing of the General or big, old Hell.
When he saw another black outline rushing at him, he didn't bother to snap at it; he ran as fast as he could the other way.
Aug 8, 2005
HR, 37
Harlequin gulped.
"Come now," rasped the General. "I'm not that much bigger than Attila. At least you won't have to fight Hell over here." He nodded his head in the rottweiler's direction.
"General, this conflict isn't about me and a duel between the two of us would accomplish nothing. There are others who wish to live free of the Pack: countless inhabitants of the field behind me are with me, as is Peg, and Hubert." Harlequin paused dramatically before pointing to Homeless Tony. "And a human: Homeless Tony!" He shouted to Homeless in English: "You're with me, right, Tony?"
Homeless Tony's eyes were fixed nervously on the growling rottweiler, but responded with a weak "yeah." The General was amused.
"Quite a chipmunk; learned the human tongue, have you? And I suppose you think I'm frightened? Hmmm..." The General trailed off in mock thoughtfulness. "Tell me, Hell," he said to the rottweiler. "Are you frightened?" Hell's jaws were twisted in such a fierce snarl that his response was undiscernable. Harlequin did not think he was frightened.
Hell flexed into a leaping stance, suddenly; Homeless Tony jumped. The dogs laughed and circled him. Homeless Tony was wild-eyed; Hell rushed at him snarling. As Homeless backed away hastily, the General ran behind him and tripped him up. Already a little unbalanced, Homeless went down heavily, arms and legs kicking helplessly at the air. Overcome with panic, Homeless scrambled madly to his hands and knees, clawing at the cement of the sidewalk to get away.
He pushed himself to his feet and sprinted down the sidewalk and out of sight. The dogs gave token chase, but turned back quickly and trotted back towards Harlequin, grinning.
Harlequin watched, stunned, his mouth and eyes wide. Peg pecked at him harshly. "It's war time," she said. Harlequin shook himself out of his reverie.
"Quickly, back to the field!" he commanded, running nimbly back through the grass. He hopped over one of the squirrel's cleverly placed tripwires. He turned to shout a warning to Hubert, but before the words could excape his lips, one of Hubert's great drooping paws had caught on some string and he'd tumbled to the ground.
Harlequin arrived at the small dirt mound he'd previously designated as headquarter's. Humboldt and his mirror and Sergei were waiting with questioning looks. Peg landed behind him. Harlequin saw a few mice disappearing into holes by the south wall.
"They're afraid," explained Humboldt. "We still have a few brave ones."
"Good," said Harlequin, catching his breath. "Peg, I'm going to need your birds to drop all this nasty smelling stuff Homboldt's collected on the sidewalk. If the dogs can't smell us, we'll be able to evade them better. Humboldt run up their right now and set up the mirror to reflect the sun in their eyes when they come round the northwest corner. Hopefully that will distract them enough so they get tangled in the wires. Then, Peg, attack with your birds, and we'll do our best from the ground. Once Hubert gets here, we can operate the catapult."
The animals sped to do as they were bidden. The Pack was getting closer.
"Come now," rasped the General. "I'm not that much bigger than Attila. At least you won't have to fight Hell over here." He nodded his head in the rottweiler's direction.
"General, this conflict isn't about me and a duel between the two of us would accomplish nothing. There are others who wish to live free of the Pack: countless inhabitants of the field behind me are with me, as is Peg, and Hubert." Harlequin paused dramatically before pointing to Homeless Tony. "And a human: Homeless Tony!" He shouted to Homeless in English: "You're with me, right, Tony?"
Homeless Tony's eyes were fixed nervously on the growling rottweiler, but responded with a weak "yeah." The General was amused.
"Quite a chipmunk; learned the human tongue, have you? And I suppose you think I'm frightened? Hmmm..." The General trailed off in mock thoughtfulness. "Tell me, Hell," he said to the rottweiler. "Are you frightened?" Hell's jaws were twisted in such a fierce snarl that his response was undiscernable. Harlequin did not think he was frightened.
Hell flexed into a leaping stance, suddenly; Homeless Tony jumped. The dogs laughed and circled him. Homeless Tony was wild-eyed; Hell rushed at him snarling. As Homeless backed away hastily, the General ran behind him and tripped him up. Already a little unbalanced, Homeless went down heavily, arms and legs kicking helplessly at the air. Overcome with panic, Homeless scrambled madly to his hands and knees, clawing at the cement of the sidewalk to get away.
He pushed himself to his feet and sprinted down the sidewalk and out of sight. The dogs gave token chase, but turned back quickly and trotted back towards Harlequin, grinning.
Harlequin watched, stunned, his mouth and eyes wide. Peg pecked at him harshly. "It's war time," she said. Harlequin shook himself out of his reverie.
"Quickly, back to the field!" he commanded, running nimbly back through the grass. He hopped over one of the squirrel's cleverly placed tripwires. He turned to shout a warning to Hubert, but before the words could excape his lips, one of Hubert's great drooping paws had caught on some string and he'd tumbled to the ground.
Harlequin arrived at the small dirt mound he'd previously designated as headquarter's. Humboldt and his mirror and Sergei were waiting with questioning looks. Peg landed behind him. Harlequin saw a few mice disappearing into holes by the south wall.
"They're afraid," explained Humboldt. "We still have a few brave ones."
"Good," said Harlequin, catching his breath. "Peg, I'm going to need your birds to drop all this nasty smelling stuff Homboldt's collected on the sidewalk. If the dogs can't smell us, we'll be able to evade them better. Humboldt run up their right now and set up the mirror to reflect the sun in their eyes when they come round the northwest corner. Hopefully that will distract them enough so they get tangled in the wires. Then, Peg, attack with your birds, and we'll do our best from the ground. Once Hubert gets here, we can operate the catapult."
The animals sped to do as they were bidden. The Pack was getting closer.
Aug 7, 2005
HR, 36
One dog was significantly larger than the other. He was a rottweiler. Huge muscles powered his massive form forward; his eyes were great and empty like a shark's and his powerful jaws parted to reveal a gleaming row of cruelly pointed teeth.
The smaller of the two was somehow more frightening. Hubert whispered that this one was the General. He looked to be a German Shepherd, though he was so covered with scars that he looked like no other of his kind. His eyes were bright and aware, sizing up Harlequin in the distance. His manner unnerved Harlequin; he walked calmly, with measured steps, ignoring the babbling dogs around him, looking only at Harlequin.
"Let's stand our ground. Homeless, wait for my signal." Harlequin's voice trembled. Homeless Tony was visibly agitated at the sight of the big dog and looked fearfully at Harlequin.
The dogs stopped a few feet in front of them, the littler ones watching from the safety of the rear. The General stepped ahead of the Pack and spoke only to Harlequin.
"It's the chipmunk I've heard so much about." His voice was hoarse and rough. "They say you've killed my cat, Attila. That's a strong claim, from something as small as yourself."
Harlequin answered with as much bravado as he could fake and prayed that hsi voice wouldn't shake too much. "What's said and what's true are two different things. What do you want here?"
The General bristled a little. "This is my land. I am the law. I am the leader of the Pack. No one does anything without my permission." He softened his tone. "Now, let me explain your situation. Beasts get to thinking you killed Attila, and they get to thinking foolish thoughts. Thoughts about you maybe getting rid of me. Now, I can't have that."
The General broadened his smile. "It seems to me only fair that we decide this in combat. Defeat me and all this land will be yours. My dogs are too weak and cowardly to oppose you."
The smaller of the two was somehow more frightening. Hubert whispered that this one was the General. He looked to be a German Shepherd, though he was so covered with scars that he looked like no other of his kind. His eyes were bright and aware, sizing up Harlequin in the distance. His manner unnerved Harlequin; he walked calmly, with measured steps, ignoring the babbling dogs around him, looking only at Harlequin.
"Let's stand our ground. Homeless, wait for my signal." Harlequin's voice trembled. Homeless Tony was visibly agitated at the sight of the big dog and looked fearfully at Harlequin.
The dogs stopped a few feet in front of them, the littler ones watching from the safety of the rear. The General stepped ahead of the Pack and spoke only to Harlequin.
"It's the chipmunk I've heard so much about." His voice was hoarse and rough. "They say you've killed my cat, Attila. That's a strong claim, from something as small as yourself."
Harlequin answered with as much bravado as he could fake and prayed that hsi voice wouldn't shake too much. "What's said and what's true are two different things. What do you want here?"
The General bristled a little. "This is my land. I am the law. I am the leader of the Pack. No one does anything without my permission." He softened his tone. "Now, let me explain your situation. Beasts get to thinking you killed Attila, and they get to thinking foolish thoughts. Thoughts about you maybe getting rid of me. Now, I can't have that."
The General broadened his smile. "It seems to me only fair that we decide this in combat. Defeat me and all this land will be yours. My dogs are too weak and cowardly to oppose you."