Fenn’s cry, accompanied by awkward swipes of his sword, did nothing to deter the beast.  It came toward Fenn with its pink, glistening lips curled back away from its giant teeth, the needle-sharp incisors moist with foamy saliva, its fleshy pink plug of a nose twitching.

          Whirling around, Fenn took off in a dead run.  He could hear the padding of pink paws hurrying after him.  He ran and he ran, down a steep slope, around a jumble of rocks, until he finally tripped on a jagged root in the ground.  He fell flat on his face and ate a mouthful of salt.

          Spitting the powder out, he twisted around and saw his sword lying in the dust.

          The...

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