Found Dog rattles down the shale and draws an inch of blade, enough to use as a mirror. The gulls are still behind him. They’re catching up.

The bottom of the ravine is wet and he stumbles in it, looking for more shelter. There. Half a beaver dam. Found Dog gets his head under just as the scream of gullsong bursts over the ravine’s lip.

There’s a fat man in a smelly coat underneath. He’s bleeding, and he has ugly wings.

“Who is it,” he hisses.

“I’m Found Dog!” says Found Dog cheerfully. “Found Dog is a good person to be!”