|Akela the Wolf|
Two of the three companions are moving slowly along the winding lane. Jeremy has been flying forward, performing reconnaissance. “France is behind us now,” says Akela. How strange: this looks so much like the mountains where the Seeonee Wolf Pack hunted in India. …I wonder how Mowgli is.”
“I wonder if there’s a place we can get some food!” Sam grumbles.
Jeremy comes gliding in. “I just saw a crowd of people heading this way!” he squawks. “They look festive!”
Akela lifts his head. “We can ask about watering holes,” he says.
The road straightens just then and they face a crowd of people carrying noisemakers and flowers, singing… “Germans,” Akela says. “Either that or they have indigestion from the noise they are making…” He steps forward, his head raised, and speaks with the voice he used at the Pack Councils. “My friends, if you could, of your goodness, direct us-“
The crowd scrambles to a halt. Jaws drop, eyes move over the three creatures in the road.
“I beg your pardon?” Akela says.
Round eyes, screams, “Führen Sie für Ihr Leben!” the people turn and run, their forms growing smaller and indistinct through the dust in the road.
Sam shakes his wing at them. “You’re all a pack of weirdos!” he shouts.
Akela turns away with a sigh. “You would think they expected us to eat them!” he says. “Let’s turn and go back to France. The thought of Biftek tartare appeals to me…