Warhorse by Timothy Zahn

dog had become a wolf.
    A wolf the size of a large grizzly bear. Rearing up briefly on its hind legs, it raised its head as if uttering a soundless cry. Then, bringing the front paws back down again, it swung its head around slowly, studying the invaders of its world. Its eyes fell on Peyton and Ttra-mii, still standing beside the analysis table and the dead rabbit awaiting their study. It raised its head again, uttered its soundless cry…And started toward them.

Chapter 6
    â€œA IM FOR ITS LEGS ,” Garin snapped, the muzzle of his needle gun tracking the wolf-creature as it loped forward. “We’ll try to cut it down without killing it, if we can.”
    â€œDo not shoot,” Llos-tlaa spoke up.
    â€œRehfeldt, switch to explosive; backup aim at the head,” Garin continued, ignoring the Tampy’s protest. “Boschelli, Wehrmann—oh, hell ,” he interrupted himself as the two remaining dog-creatures started into wolf transformations of their own.
    â€œGga-rii—” Llos-tlaa tried again.
    â€œShut up ,” Garin snarled. “That tears it—explosive needles, full-auto; legs first, then heads. On my mark—”
    â€œDo not shoot!”
    Roman jerked in his chair, swearing under his breath, his ears ringing with the sheer intensity of emotion in the Tampy scream. Not grief and frustration this time, but desperate urgency and an almost overwhelming sense of righteous anger. “Hold your fire, Garin,” he ordered when he’d found his voice again. The wolf-creatures had covered perhaps a quarter of the distance to Peyton and Ttra-mii now, and were coming on at the same casual lope, completely oblivious to both the Tampy scream and the lethal armament pointed their direction. “Llos-tlaa, why shouldn’t they shoot?”
    â€œ ’Cause the scitte-head bastards would rather roll over and die than bruise any of their precious woodland chummies,” Garin bit out before the Tampy could answer.
    â€œLlos-tlaa?— answer me.”
    â€œThere is no need for killing, Rro-maa,” Llos-tlaa said, his voice pitched normally but trembling right on the edge of another scream. “Ppey-taa and Ttra-mii must move away from the table, but then the creatures will not attack.”
    â€œBull scitte,” Garin said. “Guards, on three: one—”
    â€œI said hold your fire !” Roman snapped. “Peyton, Ttra-mii—do as Llos-tlaa said. Move away from the table; try not to make any sudden motions.”
    â€œCaptain, they’re skating on damn thin ice down there,” Ferrol put in, his voice taut. “Even explosive needles’ll have only so much stopping power against something that size—if they get within five meters they’re going to do damage no matter how fast they’re killed.”
    â€œMore so if they decide to charge,” Kennedy agreed. “Recommend the guards take out the nearest one immediately, try to scare the other two away.”
    Roman squeezed thumb and forefinger together. The wolf-creatures were less than sixty meters away now. “Llos-tlaa, why don’t you think the creatures will attack?”
    The wolf-creatures covered an additional five meters before the Tampy spoke. “There is no sense of the predator in them,” he said, and Roman had the distinct impression he was groping for words. “There is none of the hunting posture to them.”
    Or in other words, Llos-tlaa didn’t know why he thought what he did. Great. “Sanderson? Opinion?” Roman called.
    â€œThey went through a fight/flight transformation, didn’t they?” the other said tautly. “Do they look like they’re running away from anything?”
    No, they didn’t, Roman had to admit. On the other hand, Tampies were legendary for never speculating in new situations…which implied that Llos-tlaa somehow knew what he was talking about, even if he couldn’t