Prey Drive
The thrill of the chase, of snuffling through the undergrowth, nose working overtime, listening to the rustle in the long grass, he would never tire of this.
It didn’t matter who or what. If it had to be found, he would do it.
The dog lived for the chance to show his skills, to be true to his nature and to seek, seek, seek his prey.
Longing
The dog felt half-starved.There must be food here somewhere. He knocked over a bin and rummaged through the mess, picking at what scraps he could find but a man ran out of the nearby house, throwing stones and yelling.
The dog made off, hunger still yowling in his belly.
He was always hungry these days, no matter how much he ate. Even the best meals never lasted long. And when it wasn’t food he craved, it was warmth, a few nights by the fire, was that so much to ask? Or a human touch. Time with his own kind, other dogs to play with. A bitch, that would be fun for once!
Who says it’s a dog’s life, when there’s so much longing?
He was hungry, again. He’d search for food.
Grumpy Dog
The dog grumbled in its sleep. It growled at strangers and, if in a bad mood, even at those it knew if they came too close or tried to mess with its meal, or petted it when it didn’t want to be touched.
The dog was hostile so people avoided it, walked away if it approached. The dog tried to tell itself that was good thing. It didn’t need them anyway.
But the dog was starved of love and one day, enough was enough. It went to its master, licked his hand and curled up at his feet.
“Good boy,” the master said, and the dog’s ear twitched, to show that he was listening.
Below are new (to me) UNIVERSAL LINKS to my books, allowing you to choose from your favourite bookstore. Some of the books are available only through Amazon at present, though this will change soon and they will all become available from most stores. (The books with limited distribution at time of going to press include: ‘In The Wreckage’; ‘Wild Hugo Wilde’; and ‘Monster Hunters of the Undermire’.)
One thing these links can’t do is send you directly to Createspace to buy print copies. You can find links to the paperback editions available directly from the print-on-demand company on the individual pages for each book (under ‘books’ in the top menu).
From the links below you can source either ebook versions or print copies or both, depending on the store in question.
In The Rattle of the Shaman’s Bones
Monster Hunters of the Undermire
The Broken Road (short stories)
Wild Jack (Novella)
Authors – if you’re curious how this is done, go to book2read.com. The service is free and very simple to use. You can even add your own affiliate codes providing you sign in. If you have a draft2digital account, use that to login.
The Voice Of Anger
The dog barked, yelling its defiance, shouting out in warning: “Intruders. Strangers. Danger here. Come quickly, everyone take heed, take up arms, be wary, wake now and defend your home.”
His master yelled at him, so he barked louder. There must be a threat. “Man the barricades.”
Eventually, the master learned to calm the dog, sooth and reassure it, teach it to stay quiet and out of the way, until it was needed.
“Sit by the fire, boy,” the man said. “Enjoy your dinner. Get some sleep. No need to fear. All is well.”
Several of my novels have new or tweaked covers. The three books in the prehistoric adventure series ‘Tales of the Koriba’ all have a few subtle changes. The print version of ‘Lost In Thought’ has been brought more in line with the ebook version. And my horror thriller novella ‘Wild Jack’ has an all new and much improved cover.
All the covers are on display below the fold – to save on bandwidth for those who aren’t that bothered! Let me know what you think. Show me those covers…
Healing
He licked his wounds obsessively, as if sure they would heal that way, unaware that most of the time he was making things worse. His master yelled at him, told him to stop, but he had to do something, couldn’t let them fester.
He would sneak away at times to work on his damaged legs and tail. If he found other members of the pack with wounds he would help them too. No harm in trying. If he could, he would gladly heal the world.
Impossible perhaps, but keep going and you never know.
Inner Puppy
The old dog still loved to play. Throw him a ball and his eyes lit up, the joys of his youth alive in that toothy smile, the cheeky jink as he fled from pursuit.
Those were happier times. He feared no one, back then, and nothing. All the world seemed open and everyone loved him, with those big eyes and feet. They stroked his soft fur and murmured how handsome he would be when he was grown.
He hadn’t changed, not truly, not within. He was still that same puppy, innocent and fragile, barely able to walk, stumbling into doors and tumbling over his own legs. The years may have passed by, his coat had become shabby and his limbs ached. But deep down, he remained the same reckless, skittish, tricksy pup at heart.
Walking Wounded
The dog limped, though his walk was so jerky that it was hard to tell which leg hurt the most. Maybe they were all bad. One ear was torn, and he had bald patches on his back from mange or fights or fleas. There was a look in his eye, though, that said he’d been through so much and more, but come out the other side. He was still here, wasn’t he? Still alive. He’d taken all the knocks and protected the pack.
They were safe, unharmed, because of him.
The Victim’s Tale
The dog cowered every time a man lifted a stick. He’d been beaten too much, didn’t care who knew it. He whined in his sleep, when alone, when out walking or lying by the fire. He barked madly at anyone who came too close. “Stay back, I’ve been hurt before. I know your kind,” the bark said.
Other times the dog would sit by the door, waiting and hoping that one day someone or something would come and save him. He needed to be rescued. Why did no one come?