legs felt riveted to the ground.
The Howling Thing covered the space in three jumps and leaped, its weight carrying Mark back and down and slamming him into the ground. One second, Mark thought, my throat will be gone in a second. Everything ended.
It didn’t happen. He pushed out from under the heavy animal.
The Howling Thing was dead.
When it had lunged for him, Mark had instinctively raised the spear. The sharp point had gone through the animal’s heart, killing it instantly.
Blood ran down Mark’s face. He crawled to his feet, shaking, staring down. The giant mouth was open, exposing ferocious incisor teeth that would have ripped him to pieces. The claws were longer than bear claws, longer than Mark’s fingers.
He swallowed again. Close this time. Really close. If the spear hadn’t taken the animal directly in the heart, if the creature had had half a second longer, I would have been dead....
Mark suddenly remembered the Howling Thing’s victim and looked out across the clearing at the small tree.
It was empty.
chapter
12
Mark followed the trail of blood until it disappeared. Then he continued to patiently search for signs. The few tracks he found resembled small human footprints except for the toes, which seemed to be connected. From what he had seen in the tree, with everything blurred and moving, the small being had two arms and legs. The face had been hidden but he remembered seeing long dark hair.
The heavy grass kept him from finding any more tracks and the trail ended abruptly. The wounded quarry of the Howling Thing had vanished.
"That’s gratitude for you," Mark grumbled. He made his way back to the clearing. The Howling Thmg lay as he had left it.
It took some doing but he finally managed to twist his spear out of the body. The arrow was another matter. It was wedged next to the backbone, and when he yanked on it, the tip broke off inside the creature.
He studied the dead animal. It was incredible that he had survived the attack. The thing was huge and built to destroy whatever it pleased. A killing machine.
Yet he had killed it.
An elation filled him. A surge of something he could not define—a strange feeling of power. His chin went up. I saved a life today and didn’t die. I’ll make more arrows, better ones. And because of what I have, all the creatures in the forest will be afraid of me. He jumped to his feet and punched his fists in the air. He wanted to sing, to show what he had done, to tell of it.
"I am the killer of the ferocious Howling Thing," he chanted, stomping his feet in the dirt. "I—am—the— best. I—am—the—kilter—of—the—terrible—Howling— Thing."
He took his knife and sliced the long claws off all four of the animal’s paws and began whooping and dancing around the bloody carcass until he ran out of breath.
He would take the skin. He could use it for moccasins, a quiver, maybe clothing. He knelt and worked a full hour, peeling a rectangle of hide—about four feet by three—that took in the back and the sides, leaving the skin on the legs, head and feet.
With the skin gone the meat was exposed, and for the first time Mark thought of eating it. It seemed so doglike; the thought of eating dog was not particularly appetizing. But he’d been eating bugs and worms and lizards and the meat looked solid and dark. He cut strips to take back to camp to dry later.
Everything he had been through had made him even hungrier. When he found his supplies, he opened a tree rock and drank the juice while he chewed on strips of lizard jerky.
This place was not going to get the best of him. And if it was true that he might never find his way home, then he would make it anyway. He would become a better hunter and tracker and his weapons would be the best he could make.
Sooner or later he would locate the arrow people. But even if he couldn’t find them he would be all right.
He had killed the Howling Thing.
chapter
13
One tree rock after another slammed
The Howling Thing covered the space in three jumps and leaped, its weight carrying Mark back and down and slamming him into the ground. One second, Mark thought, my throat will be gone in a second. Everything ended.
It didn’t happen. He pushed out from under the heavy animal.
The Howling Thing was dead.
When it had lunged for him, Mark had instinctively raised the spear. The sharp point had gone through the animal’s heart, killing it instantly.
Blood ran down Mark’s face. He crawled to his feet, shaking, staring down. The giant mouth was open, exposing ferocious incisor teeth that would have ripped him to pieces. The claws were longer than bear claws, longer than Mark’s fingers.
He swallowed again. Close this time. Really close. If the spear hadn’t taken the animal directly in the heart, if the creature had had half a second longer, I would have been dead....
Mark suddenly remembered the Howling Thing’s victim and looked out across the clearing at the small tree.
It was empty.
chapter
12
Mark followed the trail of blood until it disappeared. Then he continued to patiently search for signs. The few tracks he found resembled small human footprints except for the toes, which seemed to be connected. From what he had seen in the tree, with everything blurred and moving, the small being had two arms and legs. The face had been hidden but he remembered seeing long dark hair.
The heavy grass kept him from finding any more tracks and the trail ended abruptly. The wounded quarry of the Howling Thing had vanished.
"That’s gratitude for you," Mark grumbled. He made his way back to the clearing. The Howling Thmg lay as he had left it.
It took some doing but he finally managed to twist his spear out of the body. The arrow was another matter. It was wedged next to the backbone, and when he yanked on it, the tip broke off inside the creature.
He studied the dead animal. It was incredible that he had survived the attack. The thing was huge and built to destroy whatever it pleased. A killing machine.
Yet he had killed it.
An elation filled him. A surge of something he could not define—a strange feeling of power. His chin went up. I saved a life today and didn’t die. I’ll make more arrows, better ones. And because of what I have, all the creatures in the forest will be afraid of me. He jumped to his feet and punched his fists in the air. He wanted to sing, to show what he had done, to tell of it.
"I am the killer of the ferocious Howling Thing," he chanted, stomping his feet in the dirt. "I—am—the— best. I—am—the—kilter—of—the—terrible—Howling— Thing."
He took his knife and sliced the long claws off all four of the animal’s paws and began whooping and dancing around the bloody carcass until he ran out of breath.
He would take the skin. He could use it for moccasins, a quiver, maybe clothing. He knelt and worked a full hour, peeling a rectangle of hide—about four feet by three—that took in the back and the sides, leaving the skin on the legs, head and feet.
With the skin gone the meat was exposed, and for the first time Mark thought of eating it. It seemed so doglike; the thought of eating dog was not particularly appetizing. But he’d been eating bugs and worms and lizards and the meat looked solid and dark. He cut strips to take back to camp to dry later.
Everything he had been through had made him even hungrier. When he found his supplies, he opened a tree rock and drank the juice while he chewed on strips of lizard jerky.
This place was not going to get the best of him. And if it was true that he might never find his way home, then he would make it anyway. He would become a better hunter and tracker and his weapons would be the best he could make.
Sooner or later he would locate the arrow people. But even if he couldn’t find them he would be all right.
He had killed the Howling Thing.
chapter
13
One tree rock after another slammed
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