Chapter Eight: Oh Dextre

Then one of the dogs moved, whimpering in its sleep. He wondered if it was his dog, and a new wave of terror swept over him. Suppose his blue cattle mongrel - Dextre, woke up before George or Daby? Then, as he did every morning, he would come charging across to leap all over him and wash away his morning torpor. If that happened, he would indeed be finished. Why had he no listened to Daby when he had warned him not to treat him like a 'bloody English lapdog'? The night breeze over his face mocked silently at his impotence.
The hours dragged interminably on, with death's messenger lying in comfortable repose between his knees. Why had this happened to him? Why not to one of the others? Was it an act of God, or was it a natural biological occurence? When would the snake leave? It might just have killed, then sought a warm place to digest its victim. So it would probably emerge when the sun rose to bask in its heat. The night longer than his whole life, and he relived every detail of it as, moment by moment, the hours crawled by.

Author's Note

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it's a good chapter

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you' are some writer,Uc. .you' are some writer,Uc. .