“Run!” cried Campion, stamping. “Run for your lives!”
He tore through them and was gone over the down. Not knowing what he meant or where to run, they turned one way and another. Five bolted down the opened run and a few more into the wood.
But almost before they had begun to scatter, into their midst bounded a great black dog, snapping, biting and chasing hither and thither like a fox in a chicken run.
Woundwort alone stood his ground. As the rest fled in all directions he remained where he was, bristling and snarling, bloody-fanged and bloody-clawed.
The dog, coming suddenly upon him face to face among the rough tussocks, recoiled a moment, startled and confused.
Then it sprang forward; and even as they ran, his Owsla could hear the General’s raging cry, “Come back you fools! Dogs aren’t dangerous! Come back and fight!”
Campion, Vervain and five other rabbits crouched under a clump of nettles as the dog tore up and down the down looking for more victims.
After digging up the rabbit that had gotten cut with glass the dog took its prize and vanished back the way it had come.
Campion and Vervain agreed that they needed to leave this horrible place at once and head for home.
They gathered ten rabbits with them plus the five that had been cowering under the nettles with them and preceded the long journey home.
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