Amity had been with the sheep since dawn, but it was only as noon brought the full heat of the day that they accepted her presence enough to shoulder against her. She formed half a black lump amongst the beige and white mass, having joined one of the darker, calmer sheep for its afternoon nap. It quickly became her furniture, and the rest of the bleating mass became part of the horizon. Her only true company among the flock was its sheepdog.
The dog was a graying, hefty beast that bore only structural resemblance to the satchel-sized pets she’d come to know in Ortia Capita. Amity wagered that the creature not only outweighed her, but had plenty more experience fighting: the proudly spiked collar on its neck carried a rusty tinge that had spread, wet, to the fur beneath it. A wash of fresh red clung to whiskers on its beard that, uncolored, might have better suggested its age. Amity assumed it was her senior out of politeness.
As Amity studied the dog, it studied her, using big, brown eyes that had more angles in the iris than she might’ve preferred. A consequence of coyote blood, maybe, or else some kind of foolishness on the part of the shepherd. Each time it passed by it growled at her, softly, as a gentle warning. And she refused to leave, and the dog returned to its business, reappearing every so often to make sure she’d not begun tearing into its charges. She mostly ignored it, save for the occasional low-effort pat.
Instead, Amity kept her eye on the hillsides to her west. Occasionally, the silhouette of Luca, the shepherd, appeared atop the nearest peak as a shuffling part of the skyline, but there had been little else to note since morning. The day was hot, and the aroma of the sheep intensified as they grazed on and fertilized the meadow. Despite the herbal gel loaded into its fabric, her scarf became so thoroughly permeated by farm stench that she found herself forced to remove the garment entirely. After some time, she removed her coat as well, placing it over her head to create a shroud against the biting flies.
The warmth of the day beat down on her from above, and the warmth of the sheep behind her rose and fell against her spine, and she curled inward from the hip to try and re-orient the heat onto her flanks. It was in this position exactly that Amity began to fall asleep.
A horn blare woke her with a jolt. It was a sound she’d grown accustomed to hearing from the far distance. Where she stayed, overlooking the west side of Vena Cava, was the far border of its audible range. From here in the pasture, it was loud enough to be truly jarring, like a warning shouted directly into her ear. With groggy urgency, Amity tugged the coat down from her head.
Another blast fired from the horn as Amity’s eyes adjusted to the light of the day. The old sheepdog stood beside her, craning its head in the direction of the sound. It turned to stare at her, instead, as she stirred upright. She could see the shepherd on the hillside, one arm waving his crook in the air, another around his horn. The sound was great, ominous, and had only one purpose: to tell Luca’s herds to come gather in the fields of the valley. The sheep around her shifted listlessly as they confirmed they stood where they were meant to be, and the sheepdog disappeared into its herd to re-confirm the same. Amity kept her eyes on the hillsides and rubbed the crust of her nap from their corners.
She saw the first of the sheep as a pair. They crested the hill set apart from one another by some distance- maybe ten or fifteen yards. More followed, streaming behind the forerunners of each side in elongated, curved shapes as the first sheep began to descend. The two groups formed a vaguely convex shape separated down the center. It looked as if the woolen jaws of some massive beast were rumbling their way towards her.
The shepherd half-sounded another note on his horn, then cut it short as the gap between the two groups of sheep grew to its widest. In its center appeared a black, lumbering shape atop the hillside. Not a dog’s shape, not exactly. But, even taller at the shoulder than its flock, it was that herd’s sheepdog all the same. It lunged at the sheep on its flank, bouncing between them with an uneven gallop that, given its central position, only served to separate the herd. They self-corrected each time, either out of some practiced instinct, or perhaps a literal ‘animal magnetism’. The shepherd pointed directly at the thing with his crook from the hillside. It waggled up and down as he, presumably, shouted. His voice didn’t carry as far as his horn.
Amity chose to ignore him. She studied the creature as it descended, bouncing between the ‘jaws’ of its herd. Twice, then a third time, the thing fell as it tried to switch back on its path down the hill. It seemed unused to its weight, or perhaps to its legs. Once, a sheep drifted too near, and was struck by the beast as it ran. The sheep flew some distance into the air, landed, then tumbled down the hillside. When it began moving again, perhaps ten seconds later, Amity released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. As it caught up to the tail end of the herd, the tip of the ‘jaws’ dipped below the sheep-line that formed Amity’s horizon. And, after another minute passed, so did the thing that had once been a sheepdog.
An overpowering, instinctual urge to stand ran up through her stomach. Anything to keep the thing in view. Then, as she started to rise, she felt a stronger urge to lower herself: to not let it see her stand among the livestock. It’d smell her among the sheep, inevitably. But for now it didn’t know she was there, and the strength left her legs when she tried changing that, and after three attempts she felt so unwell that it seemed important to stay seated, anyhow. Amity focused on trying to regulate her breathing, checked at her neck and her wrists, and adjusted her grip on her coat.
The flocks merged with a bump. The whole mass of the sheep shifted perhaps four inches in a wave of undulating ungulates. The weight of the herd washed over and through Amity. She and the sheep she laid atop formed one of few stable bumpers amongst the herd, and they were jostled so hard by the joining that Amity nearly toppled over, stopped only by a sheep wedged near her back. In the wake of the shift, it felt as if the heat had intensified, somehow. Amity brought the cloak in her hands to her forehead to wipe away the sweat entering her eye. Seconds passed.
A red-streaked beard poked through the herd, directly at her eye level. The dog that had been watching Amity all morning nosed its way toward her, lowered itself on its haunches, and let loose a throaty, ragged growl- one that broke into a bark at the end. And, just like that, the tension left her, replaced by an easy and immediate understanding. This dog, on its own, had tolerated her presence. Barely. It was no longer alone, and she was no longer tolerated. She was given her first and last order to leave, and she chose to ignore it, and the afternoon would proceed from there.
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Amity leapt for the dog, coat in hand. It darted back on its heels, colliding with one of the sheep who had begun closing ranks on its path through the flock. Amity hooked her arm around its torso, slipping the collar of her coat upside-down across its neck. The dog bowled her over, and she yanked the strap tight. Its jaws closed on the garment instead of her arm, and the fabric was impaled by collar-nails and teeth in tandem. Amity elbowed the head-bag once, hard, and scrambled to pin the dog beneath her knees. It yelped, frantic, as she did.
The sheep bleated and fought past one another, desperately fleeing the violence. A clearing maybe two yards wide opened around her. It began as a circle, and turned moon-shaped as the ring of fleeing sheep buckled inwards, then upwards, with the weight of something large. Amity released the dog and ran.
Every sheep formed a moving hurdle. Amity dashed through the flock, finding surer footing and thinner cover with every step. A booming snarl cut through the terrified bleats behind her. And then grew too close to her ear. Amity took a heavy cross-step, cutting off the flight of a lamb she’d outrun. She caught a glimpse of her pursuer as it spun to keep pace. Black-furred, bulky in the shoulders, and - she hoped - just a little shorter than her, still.
As she dashed past it, the beast reached out. Out to its side, with a bulky paw at the end on a swollen shoulder. As if it were putting out a hand to catch a ball, or seize an unruly child. Its paw grazed her leg with extended claws, and she fell. Amity tucked in and pushed up, but the thing was atop her. Too-long teeth closed around the side of her neck.
The dog recoiled backwards, yanking Amity away from the earth. Its jaws opened, but she remained stuck fast within them. She kicked desperately as she was dragged about by some upper vertebrae, searching for any kind of purchase she could find. The nails of the thing’s half-bursted collar dug into her shoulder, but the spikes of her own caught deep in its skull. A mighty growl of pain shook the air caught in her throat, and a heavy impact broke across her side, then another. It took a few blows to realize she was being bludgeoned against the ground, possibly to death.
The wind was knocked from her lungs, and no more could be forced in. She hugged her right arm tight around the thing’s shoulders, and explored her hip with her dominant left. Nails dug into the crook of her elbow as she dug at her belt, forcing her neck deeper into the thing’s mouth – anything to cause it some sort of pain.
A mighty impact forced the collar-nails an inch into her arm. She was stuck fast, now, and let out a choked-off cry with a final trickle of air. The same impact bounced a handle into the pads of her searching fingers. Amity’s hand flashed from her hip to the side of the creature’s neck, and she slammed it home three times in quick succession. It made a terrible noise, shaking her brain in her skull. The heat of its breath soaked her neck, and then her torso. All she could feel was hot and wet and pain as her strength ebbed away.
A final stab clipped the crown of her head, but stuck the knife’s tip into something firm just above it. Amity twisted the knife with all the force she could muster, the tip snapped, and the beast’s growls of pain broke into a whine. With a mighty whip, she was flung up and over and away. The black fur filling her vision was replaced with the blue of the day, and the green of the valley. The world was bright and beautiful and spinning very fast as the green bits grew rapidly near.
She landed hard, rolled as best she could, tried to inhale, and could not. The sunlight was fading, just as soon as it had appeared, occluded by dark stars that were multiplying fast. Both hands shot to her neck, and all the fingers that still moved set about unlatching her collar: it had to go. Wet fingers slid across bent metal, and pried, and forced. Amity could feel tears well. Slow. Too slow. Death?
Her nail bent back as part of the buckle pried it away from the bed. She had leverage. The collar came undone and unlatched, and popped free and away. Amity took a gasping, ragged breath, then another. The light came back to her eyes, and she swiveled her head, searching the horizon. Each movement sent shooting pain down her spine. A ring of sheep, watching for cause to flee farther. The shepherd, running down the hill, flailing his crook. The black-bagged dog, clawing at its head. And the bloodied former-sheepdog, charging towards it. It was canny enough to want help, now that its prey had proven so difficult.
Amity pushed herself to her feet and ran. This was her only chance, while it was helping its ‘packmate’. Her heels pounded into the dirt with every step. Each impact jostled all the way up her spine, and sent shooting pain back down. Amity channeled it into her legs, pushing harder, faster. She ran with everything she could. The cooling wheeze of her breath turned into a fiery burn. Her hand shot to her belt, and she pulled free an iron tube.
The warped creature set its teeth on the fabric wrapped around the dog’s head and pulled. The other dog growled in protest, and they began pulling against each other, each shaking in an effort to dislodge the fabric. It had just begun tearing at the seams when the bigger dog tried to detach itself with a jerk- but its teeth had caught in the fabric, just as surely as the nails. The half-blind, half-braced pair of beasts was bowled over as Amity hit shoulder-first. A few teeth broke off in Amity’s coat as the dogs detached.
Almost instantly, they were wrestling for position. The thing’s forepaws could reach her, even though she’d taken its side. The range of motion was too wide, the strength too great- it felt like fighting an adult man, and a strong one. One with long jaws that bent iron, and claws that could rend it. Amity clung to it with as much strength as she could muster, trying to force one hand to the top of its head without letting it back at her neck. Its jaws caught her hair, and a lock tore free with prickling agony.
They wrestled for seconds, Amity clinging as tight as she could as the beast rolled with her in the grass, clawing, its blinded, smaller partner mouthing at her all the while. Then, through the loosened fabric, its jaws caught her ankle. Her hold was tugged away, and the bloodied beast shook her free. Reflexively, she let go. Amity raised her empty hand to her ear and flipped onto her back as the dog tugged her through the grass. A huge, black shape loomed above her.
The dog was so canny as to no longer be a dog. Not really. The musculature of its forelegs had bulked and twisted like the bones underneath, and its sinewy, rounded shoulders nearly occluded the shape of its head. The ragged holes she’d punched in its throat had covered the thing’s torso in a wet slick of blood, and some of hers (and its own) still drooled from its jaws, where a clump of her hair had been soaked. Its snout split where new teeth and heavier masseters had outgrown less purposeful flesh, and the fresh-growth wounds were just beginning to scab. Her eyes met its own- a sickening mess of broken irises, cut through with maneater lines.
Recognition dawned on its features as its pupils swiveled down to her pale, uncovered throat. It placed a meaty paw atop her, and dug into her, for the last time, with its too-long claws. Amity took a deep, painful breath and tilted her chin upwards, baring her neck. The beast stared, for a moment, slavering atop her, inching nearer. She let out a whimper, and it lunged.
Amity’s hand flew from her jaw into its open mouth. She could see her fingers flash through a torn-open hole as she forced past some sphincter behind its uvula. The dog made a horrible noise as it bit down on her forearm, and so did Amity. Her legs locked around its torso. She felt teeth meet bone, and then a series of snaps, and then a scream from deep in her gut. Amity forced the useless limb deeper. She pulled it down into her chest, and brought her other hand to the beast’s forehead as it came into view. As it struggled to free itself from her arm (or to just rip it off), Amity strained to keep it in place, just for a second.
And then, it happened – the thing paused. To catch its breath, to stare down its prey. To eyeball her, how dogs did during play. Amity stared back as she planted the tube squarely on its forehead. She gripped the lever, hard, and there was a mechanical click, and nothing happened. The beast growled. And then, with a ‘bang’ that numbed her hand, its broken eyes bulged out of its head. Some explosive reaction in the tube caught, and built, and was expelled through the only avenue it had- one clogged by a three-inch metal spike. Thick, chunky blood began to trickle from the thing’s nose and ears, and it grew heavy atop her chest. The dog still at her ankle blindly tugged all the harder, and for maybe half a minute, Amity let it.