The moment Molly heard the dog growl behind her,she dropped to the ground, low and crouching.
Her world grew wider. She could see almost the wholeway round the playing fields without moving her head.
She looked down and saw fur.
On her hands.
Only they weren’t hands. They were long brown paws.
She twitched. The paws twitched under her.
Oh no, she thought. Not again.
Then she heard the dog louder and closer. Above her,she saw black slavering jaws open wide, yellow teethready to snap her spine.
So Molly ran. She ran swift and straight, right acrossthe playing fields. Running faster than she ever thoughtshe could. She had no idea how she was running like this.This incredible fast leaping flight, feet barely touching theground.
The dog sprinted after her, barking its determination tocatch her and rip her and kill her.
Molly ran faster. But the dog was close behind and thehedge at the edge of the playing fields was a long way off.
She was running on instinct. Running because she wasbeing chased. Running because it felt like the right thingto do, with these legs, and this blood pumping throughher veins.
But she had no idea what to do next. Would the dogget tired before her? Could she escape if she just keptrunning?
Then she felt the dog’s hot breath on her tail.
Without thinking, Molly switched direction. She leaptto one side and started running parallel to the hedge,away from the straight-line course the dog was strugglingto alter.
Her legs had done that. Not her head.
She’d escaped the dog for a moment, but now she wasn’trunning towards the safety of the hedge.
Molly could see the whole park, all the way around,apart from a narrow blind spot right in front of her noseand another blind spot directly behind her. Her wide fieldof vision showed the black-and-white hunter hurtlingtowards her again.
So she ran at amazing grass-skimming speed, dodgingtowards the hedge, then away, then towards the hedgeagain.
The dog howled in frustration behind her.
She sprinted and jumped, until at last she reached thehedge and ducked under its lowest branches.
On the other side, Molly tumbled to the ground, landingon her knees and ripping her jeans open.
She gulped a lungful of cold autumn air, glanced at hertrembling hands to check they were pale skin, not brownfur, then stood up and looked over the hedge.
A black-and-white greyhound was panting and grinningup at her. Molly gasped and stepped back.
“Oy! Linford!” The man running up behind the dog wasred-faced and waving a lead. “Don’t worry about him, hewon’t hurt you. He’s had his exercise for today, haven’tyou, Linford? Did you see them? Did you see how fast theyran?”
“No,” said Molly. “Who was running fast?”
“He was chasing a hare! A beautiful long-legged brownhare.”
“A hare?”
“Aye, a hare. Like a rabbit but bigger, stronger, smarterand much faster. And it only just got away. Greyhoundswere bred to catch hares, and I bet you’d have caughther, yes you would,” he rubbed his dog’s ears, “you’d havecaught her if you’d had a longer run at her.”
He smiled at Molly, clipped the lead on the dog’s collarand walked off.
“A hare,” said Molly again.
So that’s what she was. A hare…
