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He was huge, bigger than Harriet, and dark gray, the color of storm clouds. He had a black mask, like most weasel-wolves, but also black paws and a black tail.
The gray weasel-wolf moved toward them, eyes fixed on the hamsters.
“Right,” said Harriet, holding up her sword. “That’s far enough.”
He stopped.
They stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch out further and further. Hyacinth shifted her feet nervously. Mumfrey flicked his curved topknot back and forth.
“The big one,” said Wilbur. “Red said he only came out at night!”
Harriet didn’t want to take her eyes off the weasel-wolf, but she could see by the shadows that it was still only late afternoon. “Does he know that?”
The big weasel-wolf sat up on his hind legs and said something that sounded like “growrr-growwwfff-grlllf!”
“Okay,” said Harriet. “Uh.” She looked at Wilbur. Wilbur shrugged helplessly. He didn’t speak Weasel-wolf any more than she did.
“Grrawwlf!”
“What do you think he’s saying?” whispered Wilbur.
“How should I know? I left my Weasel-wolf dictionary at home!”
The big gray weasel-wolf in front sighed, then turned and barked at the ones behind him.
There was a stir in the ranks, and two weasel-wolves slunk forward. One was holding a… a…
“Is that a sheet of paper?” whispered Wilbur. “And a crayon? Where did weasel-wolves get crayons?”
“Maybe they ate someone with a crayon,” said Harriet darkly.
The weasel-wolves set them down in front of the big gray one, who nodded. He glanced up at Harriet, then back down at the paper. Then he picked the crayon up in his mouth and began to draw.
Harriet was impressed despite herself. Drawing with a crayon in your mouth had to be nearly impossible. Nevertheless, the gray weasel-wolf finished in a few moments, then sat back.
One of his—henchweasels? Harriet didn’t know what to call them—picked up the paper. Unlike the others, this one was so small that Harriet could have lifted it up with one hand. It was barely half the size of Wilbur, and not even Hyacinth could find it scary.
It carried the paper forward, slinking lower and lower, until it was practically flat on the ground.
“It’s fine,” said Harriet, realizing that the weasel-wolf was scared of her. “You can bring me the note.”
The tiny weasel-wolf dropped it at Harriet’s feet. It bobbed its head in a quick little bow, then darted back to the safety of the pack.
Harriet picked it up cautiously.
“Aww,” said Wilbur. “Look, they even drew little stink-lines.”
“I don’t stink! Except when I’m covered in ichor.”
“Ichor?” asked Wilbur.
“The goo that comes out of giant spiders,” said Harriet. “Or out of any giant insects, slimes, and other assorted monsters, really.”
Wilbur did not look as if this addition to his vocabulary had made him any happier.
“About the weasel-wolves…” he said.
“No, they’re mammals, so they have regular blood,” said Harriet, who had a very one-track mind. “No ichor there at all.”
“About the note!”
“Oh. Right.” Harriet examined the note again. “He’s… he’s asking for help?”
The big weasel-wolf nodded vigorously at her.
“But why would you need my help?”
The weasel-wolf sat up on his hind legs and attempted to do some sort of mime. Harriet and Wilbur stared at him, trying to figure out what he could be saying.
“It’s always evil clowns!” said Harriet.
“It has never once been evil clowns,” said Wilbur grimly.
“That’s because they’re sneaky.”
After nearly a minute, they had determined that it was not, in fact, evil clowns, but they were no closer to figuring out what the problem actually was.
“Sorry,” said Wilbur. “I don’t think we understand what help you need.”
Harriet suddenly realized that she was talking to an enormous weasel-wolf. “And wait. Why would we help you? You’re a weasel-wolf! You eat people!”
The tiny, sad weasel-wolf gave her a pitiful look. Harriet immediately felt like a monster.
The big weasel-wolf shook his head, looking disgusted. One by one, the weasel-wolves melted away into the forest, until Wilbur and Harriet stood alone on the path with their quail.