Chapter 63
The feral pack was in trouble. Only three dogs remained: two brothers and a sister: all old and thin, with ribs showing through patchy, matted fur. Driven from the jungle by younger, faster, stronger predators, they had slowly worked their way outwards in search of easier prey.
A week before, the pack had managed to catch a rabbit as old and as scrawny as they were, but even slower. Hardly enough to fill their stomachs.
Sometimes dogs near towns got lucky, for old customs still prevailed and they might find a corpse to pull and tug and carry away. Or domestic animals poorly guarded; but mostly now the long echoing corridors were empty, even of rats, who could smell them coming and so hid themselves.
They were cautiously approaching a small town, distinctive in smell and the
