Flytrap by Piers Anthony

boundaries, starting a river. There was their escape!
    Except that it might be a rough current across newly-cut channels. Was it safe?
    “Trust the sheep,” Brian said, though he looked uncertain.
    They looked at the Ewe. She chewed her cut, unconcerned. It seemed that she was leaving that, too to the Lamb, perhaps as more practice.
    Mona went to talk to Bunky. “Can we handle that river?”
    He bleated yes.
    “It's a go,” she announced. “Still, I think we'd better be prepared for some rough sailing.”
    “Gather around the pedal housing,” Brian said. “With the animals in the middle. Hold on, and hope for the best.”
    “The very best,” Mona agreed.
    They gathered, with Ewe, Lamb, and Vulture up against the housing, Python coiled around a strut, and the pot tied firmly in the seat. Brian pedaled, with Mona and Elasa to either side. “Trust the sheep,” Mona murmured, in the manner of a prayer.
    They moved toward the overflow. The closer they got the worse it looked. Yet the sheep were unconcerned. They knew the future, and it was safe. Unless there was a precognitive glitch that produced an error. Mona quelled the thought.
    They came to the brink. Ahead the water coursed swiftly into a narrow valley that must have been dry before the storm. They tilted into the current, then accelerated. Now they were moving at a fair velocity. It was scary, yet also thrilling. The current was swiftest in the center, and that was where they needed to be, clear of snags on the sidelines.
    The pace slowed as the water pooled in a declivity. Mona resumed breathing. The sheep had known. So far.
    Brian pedaled, and the boat moved on to the other side of the small temporary lake. But what was beyond? This was not an established river, but a temporary drainage that might or might not make it to the external sea.
    “I think I need to land and indulge some natural functions,” Mona said. “My innards are not used to excitement of this nature.”
    “Uh-oh,” Brian murmured.
    Was he being facetious? Then she realized what he was looking at.
    There were dire wolves along the banks of the new river, peering at the raft. There would be no landing here.
    “But it can wait,” Mona said.
    They came to the far end, where the river narrowed. The raft would be almost within pouncing range. Indeed, the wolves seemed to be anticipating that.
    The Ewe bleated.
    The expression of consternation on the wolves faces was almost human. They evidently had not realized that sheep were aboard the craft. They knew that not only were sheep deadly, but that they knew the future. A sheep would not be here if not certain it was safe. That was bad news for predators, no matter how tempting the prospects. They had already suffered through the storm; they were not in a mood to gamble further.
    The wolves faded back and were gone.
    Mona wondered: was this a bluff by the sheep? Could the wolves have overwhelmed them if they had tried? Had the sheep known that the bluff would be effective? Were they capable of such reasoning, or did they merely know the outcome regardless? That last seemed most likely. What a benefit precognition was!
    They moved on through the narrow channel. There was a very swift undercurrent that hauled the boat rapidly along. So swift that it seemed likely to have carried away any creature that tried to swim through it. So maybe it had not been a bluff, and the wolves would have suffered grievous losses if they had tried to attack.
    Further along the water pooled again, forming a shallow lake. Brian guided the boat to the rough shore. “Now you can go pee,” he said diplomatically.
    There was no objection from the sheep, so Mona climbed off the boat, found a place, and let go with more than one function. Her pregnancy made such things more urgent regardless. Then she rejoined the boat.
    But now night was looming, and they had little food. They would have to anchor the boat and sleep on it, trusting the animals to be alert for any