29

You ignore your pulse hammering in your ears and remember Brett's words from when she taught you to shoot. Inhale. Take aim. Don't jerk your finger. Draw back steadily on the trigger as you exhale.

The report's deafening. Their leader drops. You blink, astonished. Squawking, the rest of the mad mob whirls around and flees at top speed, which seems to be the only speed they possess. Their green and brown feathers vanish into the forest. You're safe—thank goodness!

High overhead, a pair of tailless fliers circles and circles. Through field glasses, you discern that they may have much the same wing and head shape as the former occupants of this nest. Then again, they could be scavengers waiting for you to quit the scene. Speaking of scavengers, in light of your all-too-exciting encounter with the troodontid horde, Brett offers to keep watch for signs of other hungry critters lurking in the dense foliage so that you can give your uninterrupted attention to your main interest. That's really thoughtful of her.