While I indulged myself by lying on the ground in near fetal position, Don gave orders.
Two men picked me up and half-carried me to the nearby shack, propping me in the doorway. One of them, a large man I heard someone call Goliath, called me "lil sis" as he handed me a cup of something hot and sweet, and encouraged me to take one drink, then another.
The wolfdog was judged in mumbles to "not be as bad as she looked" and carried away at a trot by two more men. The others gathered the remains of the dead guards and the kidnappers. Two of the men, Goliath and the one in the red ballcap, picked the surviving kidnapper up and half walked, half-dragged him in another direction. I was glad I wasn’t him.
The remaining men and dogs soon trailed after them.
Don came over and sat down, wrapping
