Wild Thing by L. J. Kendall

eyes fixed on the unsuspecting sheep ahead in its white coat.  But at the last instant, she decided the prey was too easy.  That wouldn't lessen its fear, though, as the deadly predator flashed past it.  The people here had learned that much, over the last few months.  Not like the stupid robots, who just got confused and stopped if she hunted them.
    She Growled him as she raced past, grazing his jacket and delighting in his startled cry.  With a fierce grin back at him as she slowed for the corner, she darted out of sight.
    His angry voice pursued her, though.  'It's no wonder you don't have any friends!'
    It almost made her stop and go back.  She did too have friends!  She had Faith, and her uncle, and Mr Shanahan.  And Godsson.  That was lots of friends!
    But somehow, she didn't feel quite so Growly any more.
    She scuffed through the gravel outside, wondering whether she ought to put some shoes on.  That was how bored she was: she was thinking about shoes.
    What to do?  Faith'd still be doing her rounds with Mr Shanahan for another hour.  And inside the building was just a handful of Grups in white coats roaming from one place to another doing boring Grup things.  And they were all either too busy to talk to her, or too boring to talk to .  She considered Growling Nerida – but she'd done that yesterday, and Dwayne today: it was too soon to stalk either one again.
    And then it started to rain.  She said Dwayne's curse word: in the cold rain the Forest would quickly turn into a big wet empty zero.
    She could try sneaking into the Dungeons, where the in-mates lived.  She could visit Godsson once she got past the security cameras….
    Godsson was nice.  Maybe they could make up more secret Hunter's language.  Remembering him naming the grown-ups “grups” made up her mind.
    Yeah.  She'd visit Godsson.  He was always so serious she felt sorry for him.  Even if he didn't approve of her hunting, he was interesting to talk to.  Strange, but – he thought his father made everything , just like she made rivers and mountains and dams in the Forest.  He said his father, as a test, made people put him in the Dungeon.  She didn't understand why, though.  But then, lots of stuff he told her about his father didn't make sense.  Like listening to sparrows falling out of trees.  Or hiding from people and seeing if they believed in him.  It was weird, too, how some of the things he said made her think of old women dressed in black and white, serious like him, using some of his words.  Actually, it was sort of confusing.  Maybe it was a dream she'd had.
    Sometimes, she felt sure, Godsson just made things up.  He was the one who made her realize that Grups made things up too.  They wouldn't ever admit it, but.  Like the way none of them – except for Uncle – would admit that it existed in the woods outside.  They'd just look blank, and pretend they didn't know what she was talking about.  Scaredy cats.
    -
    '… forty days and forty nights, until the whole world flooded.'
    Sara giggled, leaning against the closed door to his room as she stood on the broken chair.
    Through the thickened glass of the small observation window, Godsson looked offended.  'Nearly everyone died, Sara.  It's not a funny story.'
    'No, I wasn't laughing at that .  I was just remembering when I built my dam in the Forest, and it broke and flooded all the roses and washed into some of the Castle's rooms.  Boy, did I get into trouble for that!  There were cleaning bots everywhere , for days.
    'Anyway, they were all bad, the ones who died, so it doesn't matter.  And I don't see why your father made all the other animals drown too.  And what about other people on boats.  And why did he kill all the animals, but not the fish?'
    Godsson opened his mouth, then shut it.  Then did it again.
    'It's raining now, you know?  Maybe it'll last for forty days and nights, and the whole Castle will flood!  Hey, I could probably build a