Legacy of the Claw by C. R. Grey

comrades could come up with for him.
    â€œQuindley, Gold Squat!” Arabella shouted. Hal had been chosen to play his brother’s position, on his brother’s squad.
    â€œGreat, just great,” Hal said. He cast an almost forlorn look behind him at the stands. Bailey saw Tori watching them. “I can’t believe
she’s
here
,”
Hal moaned. “I guess the only thing to do is fail gloriously.”
    â€œThat’s the right attitude,” Bailey said, patting Hal on the back and sending him off with a wave.
    Soon everyone had been called but Bailey and a few other smaller kids who looked like they’d never run a lap in their lives. There was only one tryout position left unfilled. Taylor and Arabella were arguing at the edge of the field. Arabella was gesturing wildly with her hands, and Bailey thought he saw her point in his direction. Taylor shook his head. Bailey was almost relieved at the thought that he might not have to play after all. At least he could get out of there, away from the whispers and the stares. But no.
    â€œWalker! Slammer, Gold Squad! Come here. Everybody else, sorry. There’s always next year!” Taylor strolled over to Bailey and put an arm around his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard. “All right, Whatever-You-Are. Arabella wants to see what you can do
,
” he said. “This should be
hilarious
.”
    The new players gathered in a clump in front of the field as Coach Banter, flanked by Taylor and Arabella, listed the rules. Even though the tryouts hadn’t yet started, Bailey spotted several animals—a squirrel, two rabbits, and even Phi’s falcon—creeping, crawling, and flying out onto the field, drawn from the woods by their human kin, and by the anticipation of competition.
    â€œListen up, everyone,” he barked. “Each team has a flag. Each flag is hidden. Your job is to protect your team’s flag using any means necessary—barring murder—and to locate and steal the opposing team’s flag. Use of kin is encouraged. There are nine of you to a team, three to each position.
    â€œSneaks!” Coach Banter continued. “Your job is to scout out the flag and steal it. Simple. Then you’ve got your Squats—they’re the home base. The main line of defense. Squats, you stay by your flag at all times! And Slammers, you’re in the middle. You find the Sneaks before they find your team flag. Get them off course, tackle or confuse them, and mark them so they can’t grab your flag. That’s what the Flick is for! But remember—even though marked players can’t steal the flag, they
can
stay on the field until all three are out, and use any means to distract the rival team. Everyone got it? Good!” Coach didn’t wait to hear an answer. He gestured for Taylor and Arabella to march the hopefuls out onto the field as the small group of student spectators cheered.
    Taylor piloted Bailey toward a babbling creek in the densely wooded north corner of the terrain, just a few yards away from his team’s gold flag. The flag was at half-mast, surrounded by a scaffold-like structure of wood and metal. Other students from Gold Squad were scattered around the flag at different points, anxiously awaiting the starting whistle. Once the signal came, these others—the Sneaks—would leave the home base to locate and infiltrate the opposing team’s base. Their goal was to capture the Blue Squad’s flag.
    As a Slammer, Bailey got to have a Flick of his own. It was made of bristles and a handle that stored bits of paint. With the right movement of the wrist, he could send a blob of paint hurtling toward a target, making it impossible for them to capture the flag, or do exactly what their title said: sneak. Bailey had tested the Flick on the ground before the start of the scrimmage and was startled by the bright, sparkling gold paint that shot out of the end. Not even