THE FERALS 


By Tessa Harvey


CHAPTER SEVEN

Shadow stirred and moved uneasily. It was dark or at least so dark as it ever got in northern England in a midsummer night. Some part of the cat's mind still held memory traces of being shouted at and driven away, left to survive in a bleak winter. For now he was happy to be in a home where he was loved unconditionally.

But something was wrong. The hair rose on his tail and it twitched slightly. He padded to the lounge doorway, jumping off the edge of Brodie's bed. The boy was sprawled, arms above his head, deep in slumber. The man the cat recognised as the leader was making sleep noises, tossing a little as though he sensed the strangeness.




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