Which he did, barking and yapping and snarling, even as I watched from below like Johnny Smith in The Dead Zone—I even had the collar of my peacoat turned up—standing next to the allosaur but in virtually no danger; inhabiting the scene while somehow remaining apart. Like a ghost.
That’s when the other allosaurs showed up—at least one of them passing right through me—and began to triangulate the tree, at which Puck did run along one of the branches to the house—but hesitated before jumping from the eave; it was, after all, a long way down, even for a man. And that is where he remained—as the predators moved from the tree to the house and effectively surrounded it—after which there was little he could do but to sit on his haunches and try to wait them out.
Which, eventually, he did, altho
