| OCR Text |
Show the Zetts were clamoring up on their backs. The baying JumbleDogs by then were loping into the forest toward the trail back to the Zettian Valleys. Yari was on the long back of the lead dog, hanging on to his collar with one hand, and with the other was flicking the dog's flanks with the lead. His young son was clinging to Yari's furry shoulders and crying shrill encouragement, while the rest of the JumbleDogs, unleashed, followed in a roaring, baying pack. Above Yari and his following and trailing behind the swift Grendels was a flock of reds that had been nesting with the birds on and off for the past two months, and they were screaming and squawking with mindless excitement. The effect on the early afternoon silence of the High Tartars was close to pandemonium. 285 |
