Spiral by Roderick Gordon, Brian Williams

pad on his forepaw where it had been hurt by a sharp stone. After a few seconds of this, Colly had had enough and cuffed him gently on the head.
    That did it — Bartleby concentrated on the business in hand. First thing first, he chose a suitable spot to cock his leg and spray with copious amounts of urine. After the new territory was well and truly marked, he began to advance with his nose to the ground as he relied on his highly developed sense of smell to locate their next meal.
    But it wasn’t easy — they were on the fringes of a dense pine forest that extended up the hill before them, and the aromatic tang given off by the decaying needles on its floor made it tricky for him to pick up a trail. But this didn’t deter him in the slightest. Although the Hunters had trapped only a single roe deer that had made the fatal error of taking a shortcut across Parry’s estate, they’d caught glimpses of a herd of them grazing in this forest. Saliva hung in necklaces from the Hunters’ maws at the prospect of more of the delicious venison. But, for Bartleby, the ultimate prize would be the stag he’d heard at nightfall as it made its distinctive roaring sound to keep its harem of females together.
    Bartleby ascended the hill, crossing back and forth over the ground as he attempted to pick up a scent trail. Colly followed, but made sure she maintained a gap of twenty feet between herself and Bartleby. Every so often, they’d stop to seek each other out through the trunks of the pines.
    Parry and Drake would have been proud of their tactical skills; the way the cats worked was to perform a pincer movement on their unsuspecting prey, surrounding it back and front. The one Hunter would charge in, and the prey would panic and bolt straight into the open jaws of the other Hunter.
    Somewhere a bird squawked, and the sound of its wings beating against high branches made both Hunters peer above themselves. But then, as a breeze filtered through the trees, Bartleby fixed his eyes on the slope ahead. He slunk down, his nose twitching as he surveyed the area. A flick of his ears told Colly all she needed to know.
    He was onto something.
    Bartleby’s shoulder blades rose and fell as he began to advance, carefully positioning each paw as he went.
    Colly soon lost sight of him in the trees. Still she waited — hunting was all about patience and timing. Then, when she’d decided he must be in position, she began to edge forward, making no sound above the rustle of the branches in the wind.
    She froze as she heard a small thud. A cone had dropped to the ground. It was nothing to worry about, so she began to move again.
    Unfortunately the trees farther up the slope weren’t quite so numerous and didn’t provide much cover for her. So she took her time. She didn’t want to spook the prey too early — if it didn’t bolt back to where Bartleby was waiting, but to the left or right, the game was up. Their quarry would slip the net. But then she saw a felled tree on the ground ahead. She adjusted her path accordingly so the prey on the other side wouldn’t spot her.
    Her chest was brushing the forest floor, she was so low to the ground.
    What was odd was that she couldn’t get a clear picture of the prey from its scent. Both she and Bartleby were familiar with the smell of deer urine and droppings, and although there was the faintest whiff of these, they weren’t as strong as she would have expected.
    But maybe it was a lone deer, and not the full herd. She didn’t mind; a single animal would provide them with ample meat for the night.
    When she judged she must have gone far enough, she dug her feet into the ground in readiness. Then, hissing and growling and making as much noise as she could, she tore ahead at full speed.
    Limiters aren’t like Topsoil soldiers.
    Whatever environment they operate in, they live completely within it — using, eating,
becoming
what’s around them. The pair of Limiters smelled like the pine forest