The raptors crept still closer, taking great care not to wake him, and three of them split off from the others. He lay perfectly still as the three passed him on both sides and, presumably, began stalking toward the houses.
The ravine. A stampede. It just might work, and it was the only thing that had any hope of success if he was to save the others as well as himself. The question was, could he do it in the shape he was in? Could he run fast enough to even reach the ravine before the bloodthirsty bastards caught up to him and tore him to pieces?
A part of him was convinced he could not. And so he communicated, or tried to communicate, one last time,
And then he was up, trying to roar to alert the others but finding his wounded throat uncooperative, and he was loping as fast as he coul
