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straight line, through the snowy fields of Valleyfield, passed what was left of Uttershill castle and up a short stretch of hill into the mill grounds. As he moved with Mary puffing and panting beside him, his brain unconsciously made the decision for him; the knee-deep-in-snow fields it was. He had seen these creatures move through the snow at speed but really hoped this one was wounded enough to even the race. It hadn't caught them yet anyway and that was a good sign. Before reaching the fields they would have to negotiate a small band of trees that surrounded them, it was inclined enough to cause muscles to ache even before he reached them.
    'My hip hurts Peter,' Mary said.
    'I know, I know, if we can get through these trees we can rest for a second, just a second though.'
    A painful screech echoed around them, Peter darted his head this way and that but couldn't tell where it was coming from.
    'What was that?' Mary asked.
    'That is what is after us.'
    After us? No after him. That was right, if he had left Mary at the house, would it have gone after her or bounded on toward him? Would she have been safe at the house?
    Oh my god, what have I done? 
    She didn't have to be here, he had put her in the line of fire; in the line of claws and teeth. He must get her safe. They moved through the trees, the snow here was so deep they were almost jumping from footstep to footstep and the shovel felt heavier and heavier with every stride. The bottom of Mary's flower pattered dress was damp and dirty from the kicking up of the muddy field and snow. The trees weren't thick at this time of year and he could see right through them to the open fields beyond, only a few yards separated each tree. They kept moving, jumping, kicking and dodging their way through to the far end of the trees. When they reached the last line they dove behind the largest Scots Pine that Peter could see, it had a wide base and scaly bark that prodded his back as he pushed hard against it; wishing he could just melt into it and return home for turkey and presents.
    His chest heaved and hurt, he wanted the pain to stop, his throat coughed up some mucus and he spat it out onto a clump of pine cones that lay at the base. Twigs broke and he froze. He grabbed Mary tight to his chest. Because this wa s Christmas afternoon there was no sound of traffic, the roads were quiet and the distant laughter and bustle of children playing did not give him the comfort it normally would have. It was silent here and he had to control his breathing.
    'What are we..?' Peter threw his arm around her face and muffled her voice to silence her. She protested, but a couple of wriggles later and she had stopped fighting. Peter's back to the tree, Mary's back to him, they tried to become one with the tree as another twig broke, a pine cone shattered. Silence. No movement. Snap. No breathing. Crunch. It was behind them but not far. As Peter's panicked breathing returned to almost normal he could hear it puffing. He pictured its chest heaving; its body crouched down in strike mode. Sniffing the air. Its teeth dripping with saliva, melting the snow where it landed. It screeched again but not a cry for help or an angry- where the fuck are you? - screech, but a pitiful whining screech. Soft and sore. It was hurting. Could he stand before it now - shovel in hand? Smack it square in the chops and get home for turkey with all the trimmings? Settle in for Christmas TV and a nice port? Jingle Bells, all the fuckin' way?
    No, he was scared, terrified and he wasn't comfortable trying to figh t with Mary here, although that might just be an excuse, another one to prevent him from doing what has to be done. He knew he would have had a better chance without her.
    Should have left her at home. Don't say that; believe she would have been dead by now if you had.
    It must be able to smell him, it wouldn't be long until it was upon them. He didn't want to make a stand here but he gripped the shovel that little