In a demonstration of pure hunting prowess, it pounced on another unsuspecting flower and bit savagely.
Fuzzy white seeds floated in a cloud.
I scooted forward with my hand out.
It took a step back and let out a low warning growl.
With my hands in the air to show I meant no harm, I lay back down.
Content that I wasn’t a threat, the puppy resumed hunting (mutilating) the plant population.
Every few seconds, purple eyes looked in my direction, like it wanted to make sure I hadn’t moved.
Long minutes passed, and it didn’t leave my vicinity. At one point, it rolled onto its back. It was a boy puppy-thing.
“I’m gonna call you Fluffy Jr.,” I told him.
Either he identified as something else, or he hated the name, because he walked closer and puked. The fact that it was mostly twigs seemed concerning.
Slowly, I got to my feet.
Fluffy Jr. hunched low and snarled up at me, but the effect was ruined because his head didn’t clear the grasses, or my ankles. I was 50 percent sure I could take him.
He wiggled his misshapen body and snapped at my feet (okay, 49 percent).
“What do you want me to do?” I asked and pointed at the mess of twigs he’d regurgitated. “You did this to yourself.”
He hunched low.
I walked away.
“Ohmygod.” I turned back as I entered the forest. “Are you hunting me?”
Fluffy Jr.’s ears flopped forward, and he stared at me without moving. Purple eyes glowed brightly.
He resumed growling.
“You’re so smart and strong,” I praised, because everyone needs positive reinforcement, as I resumed walking (shuffling forward at a snail’s pace because he kept stopping and getting distracted by leaves).
As I cut through the forest, most of the other initiates were spread out in the trees, whispering to animals.
Titus narrowed his eyes at me, but looked away when I raised my eyebrow. He’d been subdued ever since last week’s library altercation.
If I’d known all it would take was kneeing him in the crace (crotch, then face), I would have done it ages ago.
“I think the birds really like me,” Drex said when I came upon him sitting on an ivy-covered stump. A gold toucan with long silver talons sat on a branch above his head, singing a pretty song.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Oh.” I pointed behind me where Fluffy Jr. was trying (failing) to catch a butterfly. “This p-puppy is stalking me.”
Drex did a double take. “Are you sure that’s a puppy? What’s wrong with its fur, and why is it so—lumpy?”
God forbid someone be built alittledifferent during an apocalypse.
Everyone was a critic these days.
We lived in dark times.
