“Skitter,” Grue called, “Run!”
I climbed to my feet and hurried toward him. Hookwolf turned to face me, then lunged my way, closing more distance than I might have anticipated. I abandoned my attempt to rejoin Grue and headed to my left, straight into the darkness.
Probably a good call.
My bugs dotted the surface of a mailbox, three paces into the blackness. I ducked around it as Hookwolf blindly followed me in. Swinging blindly, he struck a fire hydrant, but no water was forthcoming.
Taylor has a distinct advantage in here, thanks to her bug network.
He lunged left, gouging chunks of brick from a wall, then he leaped right, striking the mailbox and cleaving it in half.
Coming up: A eulogy for the mailbox.
Rest in post, my dear.
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