"Come on, Sam!" the Slate Stargoyle urged the Ferrikoon, looking back and forth between her and behind them. "Lenjack won't be able to hold them back forever!"
"Hold your tongue, Fenloc," Sam hissed as she finished tightening a rope around a wooden cage. A rare specimen of Mr. Wilson was imprisoned in it. She secured it nicely in their wagon. "There, that should be everything," she said, internally breathing a sigh of relief; but their victory didn't last long.
A loud, ear-piercing screech echoed through the air, and Fenloc winced. "This freakin' Sygriff," he cursed under his breath, turning to Sam. "We gotta go now! Or else they'll catch us!"
Sam settled at the front of the wagon, and Fenloc settled down within the various specimens they'd caught today. He kept his eyes peeled for any movement in the sky, and meanwhile, Sam whipped the Penticorns into action.
As the two horses started galloping, Fenloc gritted his teeth.
A purple Sygriff emerged from a cluster of trees, and she was flying so fast that it was almost leaving a trail of color behind her. "Saaaaaaaaaaaaaam!" she screeched, hungry to get her claws on that blasted Ferrikoon poacher.
Fenloc stood on all four, ready to defend their loot. The rocky spikes on his hide extended, and he roared at the Sygriff. "I'll clip those wings of yours!" he threatened, but with no success; the Sygriff was hot on their tails. At least her little annoying lackey wasn't with her; Lenjack was probably distracting him a little ways in the back. It was two against one; maybe they had a chance to knock this stupid Sygriff down and make their escape.