She scrambled back away from him, clawing for leverage to rise as the dogs edged towards him, heads low and teeth bared. Then he reached out checking his balance. His ankle had caught on a log and he fell hard onto the debris and leaf litter blanketing the ground, astonished desperation replacing the gloating triumph in his eyes. He wrestled off the crossbow, freed his foot and sat up, beating away a cloud of no-see-ums and squinting with sullen outrage at her and the dogs and the untied boots and the backpack with its bindle-roll. Staring at the ground in front of her, she inched farther away from him. The dogs continued to mark him, growling, their black eyes bright and fierce. His hand shot out grabbing her ankle and trying to hold on to it as she kicked at him. Shaking free, she rolled to her stomach and jumped up, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she raced to secure the laces of her boots around her calves.
What do You think about To Thee Is This World Given?
