Johanna was walking alongside Woodcarver's cart. Pilgrim was about ten meters behind,
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mbt tunisha shoes, who there could understand her? All of Woodcarver was peering up at the battle. She grabbed Johanna's sleeve. "You see something up there? Where?" Johanna stuttered an explanation, but now Pilgrim had seen something too. His gobbled shouting came loud over the battle. He raced back up the trail to where Scrupilo was trying to get a cannon unlimbered. "Johanna! Help me." Woodcarver hesitated, then said,
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mbt ema, Johanna." It was only fifty meters to the gun cart, but uphill. She ran. Something heavy smashed into the path just behind her. Part of a soldier! It twisted and screamed. Half a dozen gerbil-sized hunks of fur were attached to the body, and its pelt was streaked with red. Another member fell past her. Another. Johanna stumbled but kept running. Wickwrackscar was standing heads-together, just a few meters from Scrupilo. He was armed in every adult member -- mouth knives and steel tines. He waved Johanna down next to him. "We run on a nest of, of wolves." His speech was awkward, slurred. "Must be between here and path above. A lump, like a l'il castle tower. Gotta kill nest. Can you see?" Evidently he could not; he was looking all over. Johanna looked back up the hillside. There seemed to be less fighting now, just sounds of Tinish agony. Johanna pointed. "You mean there, that dark thing?" Pilgrim didn't answer. His members were twitching, his mouth knives waving randomly. She leaped away from the flashing metal. He had already cut himself. Sound attack. She looked back along the path. She'd had more than a year to know the packs, and what she was seeing now was ... madness. Some packs were exploding, racing in all directions to distances where thought couldn't possibly be sustained. Others -- Woodcarver on her cart -- huddled in heaps, with scarcely a head showing. Just beyond the nearest uphill trees she could see a gray tide. The wolves. Each furry lump looked innocent enough. All together ... Johanna froze for an instant, watching them tear out the throat of a trooper's member. Johanna was the only sane person left, and all it would mean is she would know she was dying. Kill the nest. On the gun cart beside her only one of Scrupilo was left, old White Head. Daffy as ever,
复件 (89) air max1, it had pulled down its gunner's muffs and was nosing around under the gun tube. Kill the nest. Maybe not so daffy after all! Johanna jumped up on the wagon. It rolled back toward the dropoff, banging against a tree; she scarcely noticed. She pulled up the gun barrel, just as she had seen in all the drills.
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