Chapter Eleven
Prisoners
Brew was injured. Fortunately it was not serious. The bullet had grazed his body, taking his feathers and some skin, but the slug had gone through his wing without hitting a bone. His wound was similar to Pud"s—bad enough to initially knock him off his feet, but not put him long out of commission.
The eagle rested against his body, its head on Pud"s shoulder. Pud stroked the back feathers and talked to it as they were led to wherever the men were headed. He placed his mouth next to the bird"s head, keeping his voice low.
"Talk to me, Brew. Once for yes, twice for no. Are the others looking for me?"
One chirp.
A man poked him in the buttocks. "What are you saying?" he demanded.
Pud threw him an angry look. "You fuckers shot my bird. It"s wounded, and I"m tryi
