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Page 85
Or had they another reason to come after her? Not that the reason mattered. Maybe their attack was somehow preordained from the screenplay.
What had Matilda done?
Waited for her Thorn, of course. He had come, for she could rely on him. He had beaten the brutes off, had saved her.
But this was an episode from the screenplay that would turn out differently in actuality. The real Thorn would not even know she was here. And even if he did, he would not come after her.
She had to save herself.
She looked around. She needed something to use as a weapon, something to fend them off.
There. A huge tree had fallen to the ground near her. She could make out its black outline in the gray light. Its trunk was a large, moldering shaft; most of its branches had rotted away. But there was one limb, a large one, leaning from the main hulk. It was attached now by the merest connection of torn wood.
Mariah ran toward it. She grabbed the branch. She tugged.
Its anchor to the trunk was stronger than it looked. "Please," she whispered, as though the inanimate object could respond.
She heard the wolves' heavy panting.
Mariah pulled again. Her hands gripped the roughness of the wood. Sharp edges of bark pierced her fingers and she nearly cried out, not only from the pain but because of what she was doing to her hands. But if she didn't get a weapon, more than her hands would be hurt.
No luck. In desperation, she stood on the log and bent the limb from one side to the other, pulling on it. Tugging. Almost crying in frustration.
There! With a snap, the large branch became hers.
Just in time, for there they were, three running animals, their eyes nearly glowing in their eagerness to reach her, their thin muzzles open and slavering, their tongues hanging out.
"Get away!" She whipped the branch toward them. It was heavy and irregular. She could barely hold it as it pulled her

 
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