"Down there it"s the lore," Vimes panted, as its paws scrabbled for purchase on the greasy branch. "But up here it"s me."

He reached up, grabbed the branch above him, and kicked down with his feet.

There was yelp, and another yelp as the wolf slid and hit the next branch down.

About halfway towards the ground it tried to change back again, combining in one falling shape all the qualities of something not good at staying in trees with something not good at landing on the ground.

"Gotcha!" screamed Vimes.

In the forest all around a howling went up.

The branch he was clinging to snapped. For a moment he hung by the gloomy trousers of Uncle Vanya, caught on a snag, and then their ancient fabric ripped off him and he dropped.

His progress was a little faster, since the falling werewolf had removed a lot of branches on the way down, but the landing was softer because the werewolf was just getting to its feet.

Vimes"s flailing hand grabbed a broken branch.

A weapon.

Thought more or less stopped when his fingers closed. Whatever replaced it in the pathways of his brain was gushing up from somewhere else, thousands of years old.

The werewolf struggled up and turned on him. The branch caught it across the side of the head.

Steam rose off Sir Samuel Vimes as he lurched forward, snarling incoherently. He smacked the club down again. He roared. There were no words there. It was a sound from before words. If there was any meaning in it at all it was a lament that he couldn"t cause enough pain...

The wolf whined, stumbled, rolled over... and changed.

The human extended a bleeding hand towards him in supplication. "Ple-ease..."

Vimes hesitated, club raised.

The red rage drained away. He was on a freezing hillside against a cold sunset, and they"d left him alone, and he might just make it to the tower...

In one movement, changing from man to wolf as it moved, the werewolf sprang. Vimes went backwards into the snow. He could feel the breath and the blood, but not the pain

No talons ripped, no teeth tore.

And the weight was lifted. Hands pulled the body off him.

"Bit of a close one there, sir," said a voice cheerfully. "Best not to give them any quarter, really." There was a spear right through the werewolf.

"Carrot?"

"We"ll get a fire going. It"s easy if you dip the wood in the fat springs first."

"Carrot?"

"I shouldn"t think you"ve eaten. There"s not much game this close to the town, but we"ve still got some - "

"Carrot?"

"Er, yes, sir?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"It"s all a bit complicated, sir. Here, let me help you up - "

Vimes shook him off as he tried to help him to his feet.

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net