Dling stayed still, making himself as small as he could.
Dling dashed from his oil barrel trap, straight through Maggie’s wobbly legs.
“There he goes!” Abraham charged after him, his breath coming out in burps and phlegm. Dling darted through the Arctic Willow and Bearberry, spun through the boulders along a long ridge and to another great beach. He leaped between ice chunks, his paws slipping and skidding, and caught the edge of a small iceberg and climbed to its tiny shoulder. Abraham steamed into the water, old and stumbling, and pulled himself onto the iceberg; he had a gun. “Rabbit!” Dling knew that he was in trouble and that shrinking himself down wouldn’t be enough. He sprang onto the open ice, exposed to the vastness, and seeing Abraham barreling after him, collapsed and feigned death. “Careful out there, Abraham!” Maggie screeched. “That ice is no good.”
“I know what I’m doing!” Abraham slid his feet out, creeping along the edge, wheezing and burping, and was right there.
“Watch that bunny! He’s a sneaky little bastard!”
“I know it.” Abraham reached out to grab Dling, the hairy crooked fingers just touching his paw, when the ice broke. Abraham was in the water, thrashing and gasping. Dling jumped away and clicked his teeth in excitement; that was his hare laugh.
“You little bastard! You little rotten bunny!” Maggie waved her white wobbly arms. “I’ll get you!”
The water stayed dark. Abraham never came up. And Maggie cried after him. “Abraham! Don’t leave me here!”