Читать книгу The Last Family in England - Matt Haig - Страница 27

dream

That night they forgot to shut me away so I was asleep on the landing, lost in a violent wolf-dream. I ran wild. Fast through trees, together with the pack, the sun struggling its way above the horizon. I heard a distant howl. There was the smell of blood: we were getting closer, moving towards our morning kill, heart and legs in equal gallop. More smells. Pine, bark, earth, sweat, bone, wolf, sunshine. And faster, downhill, zigzagging timber, then falling out into the open, one last turn, moving as one. Wolves together, back on the flat, kicking up dirt. The promise of blood was everything, overpowering all else. In seconds we would have it, our prey, from every angle. We lowered our heads, and moved in. That was it. There was no escape. We tore and ripped the flesh apart, blood spraying our faces. But before I had time to taste it, I woke.