Max sighs. "You sound like the smaller members of the pack. And of course: you must have intelligence; you must have brains; you must have a killer instinct. But without strength, what can you do with them? Whereas, even without these qualities, strength can shape the world."
You consider this, still moving up and down on the werewolf's back. With that sort of outlook, you wonder how you're supposed to stop a species from fighting the same old wars.
Maybe you need to talk to some of these smaller members of the pack.
Next
A companionable silence settles over the scene. For a while, it seems to you just like a regular school. Everyone around you is chiefly concerned with enjoying a few moments of not being sat in a classroom.
"Wait a minute," Sonia says after several moments, pointing towards the school fence. You turn, as do your classmates, to follow her finger.
In the distance, a pair of figures are approaching, crossing the grounds neighboring Cavalcade Academy.
"Interesting," Max says, squinting at the approaching figures. "Looks like someone's coming to say hello."
"They're wearing school uniforms: red ones," Michelle—whose artificial eyes can apparently see with a lot more clarity than anyone else's—comments. "Is there another school around here?"
"THEY MUST BE FROM ST. MARY'S GRAMMAR SCHOOL!" Mr. Simmons's voice roars from behind you, making everyone start. For a man so terrifyingly gigantic, he can move with an almost vampiric stealth. "THEY MOVED IN NEXT DOOR TO US AT THE END OF LAST TERM! WELL, GO ON AND SAY HELLO! AND REMEMBER: YOU'RE REPRESENTING CAVALCADE ACADEMY, SO THINK ON!"
Leaving those words ringing in your ears and jangling throughout your nervous system, Mr. Simmons stamps off across the field, heading God knows where to do God—presumably—knows what.
Next