The Wildings by Nilanjana Roy Page B

voice whisper, as though its owner was sitting right beside him, “Stupid, foolish piece of meat. You’ll be dead soon if you don’t get your paws moving, not that it’s any of my business.” It was an insidious, cold voice, with not a touch ofwarmth in it, but for some reason it helped Southpaw break through his terror.
    The dog was inches away from the kitten now. Southpaw let out his best high-pitched warrior’s yell, put his ears back, turned and ran for it.
    Behind him, he heard the dog bark. From the tree, Miao’s voice said frantically, “Southpaw! Not there! You’ll be trapped!” He could sense Katar coming down from the tree, streaking across the grounds to battle the dog. And he could tell that as fast as he was running, the dog would catch up soon. Its stink was in his nostrils, the smell of damp fur, adrenaline and a predator’s sweat. Southpaw’s ears were flat to the side of his head; two predators in one day was a bit much for a kitten who hadn’t even been on his first hunt yet.
    Katar’s urgent warnings were now so sharp that they made his whiskers crackle: “You have no room to turn, get away from the veranda: look up, Southpaw.” Too late—the kitten was heading straight towards the Shuttered House, and with the dog so close behind, he had no time to try and streak down the side. But though the verandah was a dusty place that radiated forlorn abandonment, the kitten’s heart beat faster when he saw the two or three bits of broken furniture that sat on the porch.
    Miao was still howling defiance at the dog, trying to attract its attention, and Southpaw sensed that the old Siamese had come down from her tree. But the dog was barking, joyously, bounding up the stone stairs of the veranda behind him, its muzzle dangerously close.
    Southpaw knew exactly where he was headed, though, and feinting to the right, he shot sharply to the left instead, leavingthe dog skidding behind him, its paws clacking on the slippery stone. On the veranda, pressed up against the peeling front door of the Shuttered House, was a low cane bed, and the kitten had just enough space to squeeze himself under it. His whiskers crackled, and he knew Miao was calling in all other cats in the area to help with this emergency.
    “Good thinking,” Katar said, “Hang on in there until we can lure the dog away—just stay under the bed no matter what happens, Southpaw.”
    The dog barked again, and through the cane slats, Southpaw could see its black eyes, keen, hungry for a kill, frustrated. There was a scrabbling above his head, and the kitten scrabbled backwards as a large, heavy paw slammed through the cane. Splinters and dust rained down on Southpaw’s head, making him sneeze. The cane was rotten, worn through by years and years of monsoons, warped by the heat of many summers. It would yield soon enough. The paw slammed down again, perilously close to his nose, and the kitten whimpered. He was trapped.
    Katar growled, trying to get the dog to turn, but the beast swivelled once, snarled in warning at the tomcat and barked defiance at him. “My kill!” said the dog in Junglee, the language of the hedges; all animals knew it, even though most could communicate only the most basic warnings and requests in that tongue.
    In response, the tomcat bit his tail; the dog whirled, howling in anger, shaking the cat off with such force that Katar was thrown a considerable distance. Dazed, he lay on the grass, and Miao slipped over to his side, standing guard so that the dog wouldn’t attack him while he was down.
    Intent on its original target, the dog nosed the dry wood where it had cracked, then jerked its head up, splintering the cane further. Southpaw backed away as far as he could, trembling.
    From behind the door, a cold whisper reached him. “Poor helpless kitty,” said the voice. “Look at the way the beast crunches the cane. It has such powerful, strong jaws, doesn’t it? Look at its teeth: they’re such sharp, yellow