The rat, Fennish Seven, pumped his legs harder toward the river. He could see a circle of moonlight now at the edge of the woods—about thirty yards ahead, at the end of the tunnel of trees. But the Garr was gaining fast.
“I WANT YOUR FEAR, FENNISH SEVEN!” he bellowed.
The earth shook with the giant’s footsteps—boom, boom, boom!—and then came the thunderous crack of splitting tree limbs.
Startled, Fennish stumbled and nearly fell, then quickly found his footing again and took off down the leaf-strewn path. He didn’t dare look back—the rat was so frightened, he could hardly breathe.
“THERE IS NO ESCAPE, SEVEN!” the giant cried again—closer now, boom, boom, boom!—and Fennish turned on a final burst of speed. His heart hammered, and his legs throbbed painfully. Twenty yards—boom!—ten yards—boom, boom, boom!—and then the rat hurled himself out of the woods and into the moonlight. He scrambled down the riverbank and leaped for the water when, without warning, a pair of sharp talons dug into his flesh and snatched him up in the air.
It was the giant’s bird—the traitor, Tempus Crow.
“Aaaagggghhh!” cried Fennish, struggling against the crow’s grasp; and then the Garr’s laughter, deep and croaking, echoed through the woods.
“YOU ARE MINE, SEVEN!”
Fennish Seven twisted and thrashed as Tempus Crow carried him higher, and then, somehow, the rat craned his head back over his shoulder and sank his teeth into the underside of the great bird’s thigh. It was the old wound, still tender from the first time they’d fought, and with an ear-splitting “Caw!” the traitor released him.
Fennish tumbled head over tail through the darkness; but just before he splashed down in the river, he caught sight of the Garr’s red, burning eyes glaring hatefully at him through the trees.
After that, everything went black.