Tooth and Claw
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"Bryna licked frantically at her paws as the full weight of the awful truth began to settle on her shoulders . . . the whole of mankind had gone from the town. And yet, how could that be? Men were like the sun, the wind and the rain . . . Always, always there. And if they were not there – then what?"
Abandoned in the depths of winter, the once pampered pets of men, the cats and the dogs, are left to their own fate. To fend for themselves.
Can they survive the cruel weather? Most importantly, can they survive each other?
And later, when the empty town reveals its darkest secret, and the hunters become the hunted, it’s kill or be killed. To survive, the animals must unite, in the most desperate fight of their lives . . .
A compelling, epic animal adventure.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Stephen Moore would rather be writing books than writing about himself. But here goes:
Stephen hails from the North East of England, a land he never tires of exploring; full of ancient Roman history, fantastic castles and remnants of the infamous Border Reivers.
A long time ago, before he discovered the magic of storytelling, Stephen was an exhibition designer and he has fond memories of working in the strange old world of museums. Sometimes he can still be found in auction houses pawing over old relics!
Stephen has shared his house with several of the animals that frequent his books, though not the flying pigs or foul-smelling brugan. He loves art and books, old and new. He’s into rock music and movies and theatre and video games! But mostly, he likes to write, where he gets to create his own worlds. If pushed very hard to name his favourite book of all time – there are many contenders – he’d have to say . . . Today, it’s a dead heat between, Robert Westall’s The Machine Gunners and Robert Louis Stephenson’s Treasure Island.
Maybe, his own books are OK too?
nothing but the wind fiddling with the branches of the tree. Beneath her she could clearly see four guard dogs, tails and paws stretched out, nestling up against one another. Asleep in the snow. “Ssssst . . . sssst . . .” Bryna’s ears pricked. ‘Ssssst . . . sssst . . . are oo deaf dow’ air?” said the strange voice. “Dexter? Is that you, Dexter?” Puzzled, Bryna stood up and looked about her. There was nothing to see. Below her the dogs were still sleeping peacefully. But there was a strange
keep it down now.” “Shush – be still now.” The cats held their breath. The dogs were already getting close and a scented breath would have given them away faster than a cry. Perhaps, if they did not breathe, if they kept perfectly still, if the heads of the dogs were full up with whatever nonsense it was they were intent upon pursuing, the cats wouldn’t be noticed there, hidden in the shadows of the hedge. The dog pack didn’t break its pace. Soon it would be past. Soon they would be safe. A
for the call. And knew that when it came they would quickly begin the charge to bring down Dread Booga. Every now and again paws would pat-a-pat lightly through the sewers. Cats passing information on to cats, each sentry walking only as far as the next and then back to its own watch. And so news travelled down the line, until it arrived at Treacle. Treacle, it seemed, knew everything. So, he sat, and he worried, and he waited for the call. But there was no call. Not yet . . . Kim pulled with
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must have been his own. The window and the scream were part of the inside world, part of the terrible hurt. And he knew he must get out of that inside world, or else . . . or else stay there, forever. He opened his eyes the best he could. There was a tree in front of him. And around him wet grass. In among the grass the rain was turning into tiny puddles, a million of them, and all sparkling. Not soft and round and wet puddles, but hard puddles, jagged-edged, glittering and angry. Spilling