Dapples of sunlight break through in shifting patches. Carefully, I turn my head to the left, then the right to take in my surroundings. I exhale in relief. I can still see. That’s a plus. My neck isn’t broken, either. I’m not so sure about the rest of me, though. I have that stunned feeling that follows you when you’re flattened in a game of touch football and the air gets knocked out of you. Where the hell is my bike? Dermot’s bike, I mean. If it’s banged up, I’ll have to replace it with a new one and this trip has already bankrupted me. Something heavy thumps on the ground behind my head. Oh, crud. Steamy breath warms the crown of my head. There’s a loud snort, spraying my hair with snot. Teeth click and grind together. They’d hunted the wolves to extinction in Scotland centuries ago, hadn’t they? Metal jangles and a soft nicker follows. I tilt my head back to see a velvety brown muzzle hovering over me. Lips nibble at my hair. I might have squealed like a girl. Might have.
