THEY RETAINED some of their human attributes. For example, they could and often did stand upright—though it seemed more natural and felt more comfortable to run and walk on hands and feet; fingers tight and curled, using the knuckles like the great apes. And they could smile, and laugh, and shout. There were also curious mixtures that seemed part conscious joy, part compulsive instinct: dancing, leaping, bravado, show-off displays of strength and agility, foolish risks of life in daring feats, as if death itself were dead and they immortal.
And there was play, and more play: physical jokes, teasing, surprises, games of biting tag so energetic they drew blood from neck and limb, so prolonged they left all exhausted, stupefied, tongues exposed, breath panting, staring at each other dumbly until sleep lidded their eyes and they once more moved together into the silky warmth of their tangled sleep.
At night, especially before the dawn, which was the time they hunted, they became what they were: a deadly pack—as if each move any one of them made was guided by a single brain: concerted—prearranged, devised to be a kind of orchestrated stealth and cunning that sought out, pursued, encircled, trapped, struck down its prey.