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The white headed one pulled at the powder bag,mbt kimondo red, but with just his one pair of jaws he couldn't handle it. Without the rest of its pack it had neither hands nor brains. It looked up at her, its eyes wide and desperate. She grabbed the other end of the bag, and the two of them got the powder into the barrel. White Head dived back into the equipment, nosing around for a cannon ball. Smarter than a dog, and trained. Between them, maybe they had a chance! Just half a meter beneath her feet, the wolves were running by. One or two she could have fought off herself. But there were dozens down there, worrying and tearing at random members. Three of Pilgrim were standing around Scarbutt and the pups, but their defense was unthinking slashing. The pack had dropped its mouth knives and tines. She and White Head got the round down the barrel. White Head whipped back to the rear, began playing with the little wick-lighter the gunners used. It was something that could be held in a single mouth, since only one member actually fired the weapon. "Wait,ghd machine, you idiot,beats pro!" Johanna kicked him back. "We gotta aim this thing!" White Head looked hurt for an instant. The complaint wasn't completely clear to him. He had dropped the standoff wand, but still held the lighter. He flicked on the flame, and circled determinedly back, tried to worm past Johanna's legs. She pushed him back again, and looked uphill. The dark thing. That must be the nest. She tilted the gun tube on its mounting and sighted down the top. Her face ended up just centimeters from the persistent White Head and his flame. His muffed head darted forward, and the flame touched the fire-hole. The blast almost knocked Johanna off the cart. For a moment she could think of nothing but the pain that stabbed into her ears. She rolled to a sitting position,BEATS BUTTERFLY, coughing in the smoke. She couldn't hear anything beyond a high-pitched ringing that went on and on. Their little wagon was teetering,BEATS STUDIO, one wheel hanging over the dropoff. White Head was flopping around under the butt of the cannon. She pushed it off him and patted the muffed head. He was bleeding -- or she was. She just sat dazed for a few seconds,Fire 55 EZ ClassStretch 10 Class, mystified by the blood, trying to imagine how she had ever ended up here. A voice somewhere in the back of her head was screaming. No time, no time. She forced herself to her knees and looked around, memories coming back painfully slow. There were splintered trees uphill of them; the blond wood glinted among the leaves. Beyond them, where the nest had been, she saw a splash of fresh turned earth. They had "killed" it, but ... the fighting continued. There were still wolves on the path, but now they were the ones running in all directions. As she watched, dozens of them catapulted off the edge of trail into the trees and rocks below. And the Tines were actually fighting now. Pilgrim had picked up his knives. The blades and his muzzles dripped red as he slashed. Something gray and bleeding flew over the edge of the cart and landed by Johanna's leg. The "wolf" couldn't have been more than twenty centimeters long, its hair dirty gray brown. It really did look like a pet, but the tiny jaws clicked with murderous intent at her ankles. Johanna dropped a cannon ball on it. During the next three days, while Woodcarver's people struggled to bring their equipment and themselves back together, Johanna learned quite a bit about the wolves. What she and Scrupilo's White Head did with cannon had stopped the attack cold. Without doubt, knocking out the nest had saved a lot of lives and the expedition itself. The "wolves" were a type of hive creature, only a little like the packs.