Голодные игры

           Istopmidwayupthehornandloadanotherarrow,butjustasI’mabouttoletitfly,IhearPeetacryout.Itwistaroundandseehe’sjustreachedthetail,andthemuttsarerightonhisheels.

           "Climb!"Iyell.Peetastartsuphamperedbynotonlythelegbuttheknifeinhishand.Ishootmyarrowdownthethroatofthefirstmuttthatplacesitspawsonthemetal.Asitdiesthecreaturelashesout,inadvertentlyopeninggashesonafewofitscompanions.That’swhenIgetalookattheclaws.Fourinchesandclearlyrazor-sharp.

           PeetareachesmyfeetandIgrabhisarmandpullhimalong.ThenIrememberCatowaitingatthetopandwhiparound,buthe’sdoubledoverwithcrampsandapparentlymorepreoccupiedwiththemuttsthanus.Hecoughsoutsomethingunintelligible.Thesnuffling,growlingsoundcomingfromthemuttsisn’thelping.

           "What?"Ishoutathim.

           "Hesaid,’Cantheyclimbit?’"answersPeeta,drawingmyfocusbacktothebaseofthehorn.

           Themuttsarebeginningtoassemble.Astheyjointogether,theyraiseupagaintostandeasilyontheirbacklegsgivingthemaneerilyhumanquality.Eachhasathickcoat,somewithfurthatisstraightandsleek,otherscurly,andthecolorsvaryfromjetblacktowhatIcanonlydescribeasblond.There’ssomethingelseaboutthem,somethingthatmakesthehairriseuponthebackofmyneck,butIcan’tputmyfingeronit.

           Theyputtheirsnoutsonthehorn,sniffingandtastingthemetal,scrapingpawsoverthesurfaceandthenmakinghigh-pitchedyippingsoundstooneanother.