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Writing a trilogy is not an easy task, but it is a challenge I am looking forward to. I have no concerns about whether I can keep the story alive long enough to warrant three full length novels, nor am I concerned that my characters may perish from exhaustion before they arrive at their destination(s). Wherever that may be.

The thing is, when I first got the idea for this tale, back when I was still ignorant enough to believe that traditional publishing was the only way to go I read all about how to stage a trilogy and the proper way to sell it.

The bottom line was that the book itself; the first book, needed to be marketable as a single book. It needed to have a complete story arc, character developments and have enough questions answered to satisfy the readers, yet leave enough open for the story to continue with a natural flow.

I can understand this requirement, especially in the traditional publishing world for a first time novelist.

However, now that I have 'gone Indie' I have been thinking about the above points. I mean if I am self publishing, is the need still there have the book rounded off and complete in an individual sense? I can see an argument for both sides. I mean after all there should be a standard writing practice for all authors, regardless of our publishing methods.

The problem I have with my novel as it is, is that it is more of an introduction. There isn't really an end to it, and with the current story there isn't really a conclusive end that I can create which will fit with the novel as a singular or one that will match the rest of the tale. I am introducing the characters, and setting up the storyline which will take off in the second book. I can argue that the book does round of the characters, we know who they are, where they cam from and how they got to where they are. I just don't know if that is enough.

Should I revise the entire novel (series) in oder to give the first book an ending or should I just go with it. I'm self publishing so I know that as long as I can get the story written to my liking then I will publish them.

I read through it again the other day (this post has taken 6 days to write due to kids and other time constraints) and I am happy, more than happy with the way it moves, and so I guess it is more a question of whether it is good form or simply a question of risk limitation in the eyes of publishing houses across the globe?

Well, since my small rant at the world in my last update things have been going much better. My schedule has cleared up and has seen me complete between 1300 and 1500 every day this week.  I am delighted.

This is down in no small part to the insightful little post on Kait Nolan's blog which you can read , the basis was effective time management by simply making sure you do something around the house while you are waiting for the kettle to boil or for the potatoes to finish cooking etc.

I have put her words into practice and have actually noticed a large increase in my productivity, but I get quite stressed if the house is messy. Ok, I have three kids aged 4 and under, I can cope with a lot of mess but certain things like dishes or a floor in need of a vacuum gets under my skin and really breaks my focus.

I am not yet full back up to speed with my initial goals but I am much closer than I have been in weeks, and actually feel very relaxed at the moment, which for me is unusual. Plus its only 3 weeks to go and I am on a well-earned 2 week (approx) vacation.

On a note unrelated to ROW updates but linked to my writing, I have finally found a writers group I can join.

I have been longing for something like this for years. Not just because I currently don't have any friends (no joke) but because I live in a non-English speaking country and find it very hard to find others around who are not only interested in writing but offer me assistance. I have not been to any meetings yet, so I am not sure how it will pan out, but I am super excited and cannot wait until the first meeting. Me thinks this could make for another post series. 'Rumours from the Writing Circle'

"I've seen your record, you got a long list of felonies after your name." The office slapped the three inch thick paper file onto the table. It rattled around the interrogation room like a gunshot. "Tell me something" He sneered, leaning in so close to his suspect that his spit speckled the man's glasses. "Are you just fucking stupid, or do you want to get caught? I just can't decide which one it is." He stood back off again, moving to one side he resumed his pacing up and down. Overhead the long fluorescent light bulb flickered.

"It's alright." His partner spoke. She had been quiet up until now. "It's a tough world out there, now more than ever, it's only natural that certain urges will come over you. We understand" She spoke softly to him. His mind was confused, she understands me. Johnny thought to himself. Behind him the first officer let out a loud TSK sound of disapproval.

"I don't know what you mean." Johnny stammered his voice was wavering; sweat poured from his face and stung his eyes. He was full of energy, legs bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

Powerful hands clamped down on his shoulder as the first office snarled in his ears. "Come on you little bitch. Tell me. Tell me what you like to do with those little girls. Come on. You're such a big man, talk to me. Let me know what you like about them so fucking much. Hey . . . Bitch." He spat the last word directly into Johnny's face, their heads so close together their eyelashes almost collided every time they blinked. The cop had one hand around his neck and the other holding him by the front of the shirt.

"Just tell us, come on, this is your chance to explain yourself to us, we won't judge you." The nice one, the women whispered into his left ear. It was her turn to walk around now while he remained held in the vice like grip.

"I'm sorry." Johnny cracked, his mind exploding as the tears began to roll. "I couldn't help it, I love them." He stuttered, trying to speak to the distraught waves of emotion that were flooding through him. Fear of punishment forgotten.

"You're sick. You think that makes you a man, a tough guy. What you would do if I brought a little kid in here right now hey?" The male office released his grip pushing Johnny with such force the chair he was tied to slid backwards on the concrete floor of the room. "Why not pick on women, hey or are they too much for you to handle you little faggot." The office snarled slamming his fist into the wall.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Johnny driveled, "I'll be good, I promise, I won't let them go again, I'll feed on them all. Drain 'em dry." He begged, snot ran freely from his nose and mixed with the tears that covered his cheeks pooling together on the floor in a semi congealed mass.

"It's too late for that now Johnny" The women whispered in his ears.

"Yep." The male answered, smiling as he stared down at Johnny's bound form. "It's a staking at sunrise for you." He said as they left, slamming the door behind them. leaving Johnny alone, the light went out as their footsteps echoed down the corridor.

When I started out on this most entertaining of journeys I was certain that I would hit my goals no problem. As the weeks have rolled by I have gradually slipped further and further behind until this week when I managed to work on my novel for about 45 minutes in total. Ok, on top of this I had another batch of articles that I had to write, and ok I do get paid for these articles, and I also spend Friday and Saturday evenings working on a new short story (which can be found ). The story itself was one that came to me and has served as a nice distraction for me, seeing as how the editing on my books has stalled.

I am a moody person by nature of so it would seem, and I have been called many things and heard it called many names, from intense and brooding to pessimistic and downright stupid, and the simple answer is I am it all.

Writing keeps me calm, and when I don't write I get grumpy, but my problem is I put too much pressure on myself to get too much done and then feel stressed by my self perceived failure to produce results. (Hence my distracting short story.)

I am making a concerted effort this week to get back on track with the editing. A modest two pages a day is my target. I have my short story to offer me some stress release and no articles lined up so this should be achievable. It will still have me behind schedule but a quick change of the goalposts and I am back on track.

The thing that got me down most this week is that I have been writing these articles in order to try to save up some much needed cash to pay for my artwork and perhaps a proofreader � yes I am serious about this book � but along come a few bills we hadn't expected and there goes the savings. I am the sole worker in the family � paid employment, my wife is home raising the children; a much tougher job than mine � and so we live from paycheck to paycheck and each month sees us inching closer and closer to our overdraft limit and sometimes, as was the case this week, the meagre savings we manage to scrimp together are called on. So as it now stands my fund for art and checking is Zero, and leaves me thinking about why I bother with the articles, as they take away time I could spend on the novel and give me no real benefits in the end. I am sure in the morning I will have a different view on this (I told you I know how my mind works.)

It seems that everything around my writing leads to a Catch 22 scenario, I am going the Indie route because I want to be able to do what I love and provide for my family doing it, as the job market will not currently offer anything better than what I have, but to do that I need to have money to invest in getting it right, (as anyone who has viewed my short story collection can see, it was not ready to be released but was a result of impulsive nature which I fight daily to keep from getting out of control.) Yet to be able to do this I must reduce my writing time to practically nothing, hence my above feeling of what is the point.

I know the answer, and I have given it already, I love my family and will do whatever it takes to give them the life they deserve, and I will do that by doing what I love, and not spending the next 40 years in a crappy, unfulfilling office.

It has been a great day today, celebrating mothers day and taking the kids out to Europe's largest playground which is conveniently just around the corner to us, and we are all exhausted so tonight will be an early night, but the alarm is set and so at 05.15 tomorrow I take the fight to the pages, and there will only be one winner!

The morning brought with it the first rain shower in weeks. Martha opened her eyes to a grey world, a howling wind ran through the small rural cottage; like the cries of a distant infant.

The first thing Martha did in the morning was pray, normally just a short recital, a request for a blessed day. She did the same today, only she didn't kneel beside her bed, but in the living room. She held Danny cold hand in her own and prayed for strength, for forgiveness.

With her prayer finished Martha scooped her son into her arms and walked out of the house. It was raining harder, and by the time she parked her car at the start of the woods it had become a downpour. Martha didn't feel the rain, nor the cold wind that bit into her flesh. She walked without fear of being seen, and with certain footfalls; the path through the woods was engrained into her mind. She and Danny had made the trek through the trees to the cliffs of Dunchurch more times that she cared to remember. It was there that she would lay her son to rest.

The walk took longer than Martha had expected, the rain slowing her considerably. There was only one possible spot for it, Martha had known the moment she received word of her role.

The cave was located at the base of the cliff, hidden away from view of both the beach and all but those with an intimate knowledge of the area. There was an old, overgrown footpath that lead down to the pebble beach floor. Martha had never seen it before, yet as she stood there, the body getting heaving in her tired arms, she saw it; the weeds seemed to part and show her the way. The cave was deeper than she had expected, they had never actually gone inside during their trips. Martha's arms ached and her ankle was beginning to swell from where she had almost fallen coming down the path. Yet she walked deep into the darkness, not wanting to leave her son anywhere in plain sight.

About 200 meters in the cave forked; each path was no more than a further 50 meters deep but Martha felt her way along and found a small crevice, a shelf carved into the soft rock. It was here that she placed Danny's body. The smell of the sea was not as strong in the back of the cave, the sea levels rarely getting high enough to flood it completely, but Martha still placed a number of rocks over the sheet weighting it in place, hiding the body from view.

With her job done Martha turned and left, her senses not confused by the darkness, but she made a mental note to bring a flashlight the next time. The rain had begun to lessen as Martha sat back in her car. It had taken her almost an hour to climb back up the slope, her ankle, swollen to twice its normal size gave out several times, and twice she had fallen.

Martha returned home, and cleaned up the house. She buried the sheets and broke up the wooden boarding; she would use it as fire wood in the winter.

Three Days Later�

The rain had been constant, the sun in danger of becoming a myth it had been hidden for so long. The other side of town was flooded, and the tides had been unseasonably high. That still didn't stop Martha Anderson from returning to the cave that afternoon.

She was shaking with nervous excitement as she stood at the mouth of the cave. The tide was indeed high, she stood almost knee-deep in water and could feel the strong current sucking at her feet; trying to pull her away as if it was scared of the cave.

"Holy Father, I have done as you commanded, I am your faithful servant for now and always. Oh Heavenly Lord please delivery my son to me, as yours was delivered to the world so that together we can live in divinity and spread your message." Martha had sunk to her knees, the pebbles that covered floor cut into her flesh but she did not notice. Her eyes had widened, the pupils dilated so large the consumed her entire eye, save for a small corona of colour.

Martha rose, and entered the cave.

She needed the flashlight, the darkness seemed more total than during her previous visit. The water levels soon reduced to nothing more than ankle-deep, and by the time Martha reached the division of the tunnel the floor was dry. A strange smell hung in the air however, like rotten fish. Martha faltered, her pace slowed and for a short second she questioned herself. However, it was too late for second thoughts, and who was she to question the will of God? He had blessed her with a child, and she was blessed to be given the chance to raise someone so important to the message of her Lord.

She took the right hand fork and searched with the flashlight, trying to find the shelf that had served as the resting place for her boy. She saw nothing. Martha then remembered that she had chosen the right hand fork, as her son was the right hand of God, and he had a message to be spread. She searched and found the shelf, but it was empty. The rocks had been removed and lay littered on the ground.

Behind her something rustled, Martha spun around, suddenly nervous, and fearful. The white bed sheet lay on the ground, fluttering in the firm breeze that seemed to whistle through the cave.

Martha bent down to gather the blanket when a hand grabbed her shoulder.

 "Mother" A wet, rotten voice growled in her ear. The pain was intense, the teeth pierced the flesh of her neck and the Martha Anderson's world exploded in a flash of white-hot pain, and then went black.

Five Years Ago

"Mrs. Anderson, It's Doctor Jenkins, I have some very good news for you."

Later that morning

"Dear Lord, Thank you for delivering my baby back to me, for ridding him of his illness and for saving my life.  Lord give me the strength to spread thy name and to continue to help those who need it."

***

Three Years Ago

"Mrs. Anderson, I have checked the x-rays and had the lab double-check the test results and can happily say that Danny is officially in remission. I see no evidence of further tumor development and all of his vitals are back in the normal range.  Higher than I would expect for a child so soon after treatment. Of course we will conduct an annual check, but this is very positive news. For you both."

"Thank you Doctor, Thank You" Martha Anderson wept as she shook the doctor's hand before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"  Her young son asked. "Am I sick?" The worry in his voice was obvious to them all.

"No Danny, not at all, you're all better. Doctor Cooper made you all better." Martha cried, tears flowed freely as she picked up her son and help him tight against her.

Later that night.

"Dear Lord, My prayers have been answered, I am you humble servant, thy will is divine and your ever command shall be my pleasure. Tell me what you will my Lord and it shall be so."

***

One Year Ago

"Mommy, I don't want to go to school, I don't feel well. My throat hurts."

"Oh Sugar, go on back to bed and get some rest. I'll call school and tell them you will be staying home today." Martha kissed her son; his fever warmed her lips.

***

Three Days Later

"Mommy, my head hurts, Mommy…Mommy." Danny cried out in the darkness. It was black in his room, black in a way he had never before experienced.

Martha came running, she burst into the room and turned on the light. Danny was standing in the middle of the room, his nose was bleeding and despite facing the door, he didn't react when the light came on. He was blind.

***

Six Months Ago

"Mrs Anderson. The surgery was a success, we managed to remove the tumor and save both of Danny's eyes. He's being moved into the recovery room, and I will come and get you when he is ready for you." Doctor Cooper led Martha through to the relatives room as she spoke. She was white with shock and hadn't spoken a word all day. Although it was understandable, the tumor had come from nowhere, seeming to grow overnight.

"I will be in the chapel Doctor. I need to say a prayer." She spoke in a monotone voice, distant and robotic. It was as thought she was held in a deep trance.

"Of course. It's right this way." Doctor Cooper gestured through the door to his immediate right.

"It's fine, I will find it." Martha answered. The tone of her voice made Doctor Cooper shiver.

A few moments later�

"Dear Lord, I have done all you ask, I have spread thy divine word, I have cured myself of sin and offered penance for those too weak to give it themselves, why do you chastise me. My baby suffers and I cannot take his pain away, please Lord� I beg of you, lead me through the darkness so that I may find my salvation, may find my peace." Martha knelt before the small alter, she held a crucifix in her hands and when she bowed her head she offered the small wooden cross forward as if she was presenting a gift.

When she raised her head, her cheeks were streaked black from her tears, and her eyes were red, but as she looked, the sun emerged from behind heavy clouds and a ray of golden light shone through the stained glass window. Yet to Martha, this was a sign, she saw light beaming from the eyes of Christ, whose death was the very object of illustration in the window.

"Thank you Lord. I hear your words and I shall do as thee commands of me." She rose, and before leaving, she leaned forwards and placed the small crucifix � which she had purchased at a garage sale the day before they got the Danny's first lab results back � on the floor beside the altar.

***

Two Days Ago�

"Mrs Anderson. Please, sit down." Doctor Cooper and called Martha away from her son's bedside and ushered her into a small empty examination room."I am really sorry�" He began, but Martha raise her hand and silenced him, pressing a finger against his lips.

"I know, I prayed to God and he told me that my son has been chosen, that his time is at hand. I saw it in my dreams." She still spoke in the same robotic voice, but her eyes glistened with tears and her chest shuddered as she took each breath. Doctor Cooper saw this and felt relieved.

"I truly am sorry Martha. The cancer had spread and, I mean, we can keep him comfortable and with the drugs available I say he could still have as long as a year, maybe more if you want to try Chemotherapy again." Doctor Cooper began.

"I would like to take my son home Doctor Cooper." Martha spoke, she seemed to ignore his words completely. "I don't want him to suffer any more, please give us the medication so we can go. I want him to enjoy what time he has left, and be in his own home when God sends his loyal servant to collect him." Tears welled in her eyes and when she blinked they ran down her face, but her voice still refused to register any emotion.

"Sure Martha, I understand. I will get the paperwork and you can be on your way. I will be in touch with an appointment schedule for you both." He began, but Martha turned and walked away before he had a chance to finish speaking.

***

Present

"Lord watch over my baby, take him under thy wing and guide him to a place of righteousness. Raphael will be his guide and he shall follow. As I have followed. Your every command is my honour to fulfill. Lord make me strong and hold me firm so that my way is not lost." Martha stood over her son, head bowed her clasped hands raised to her forehead.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" Danny asked, his voice groggy from the painkillers.

He laid on his bed, his body ached and he couldn't move. He coughed and it felt as though his chest was on fire.

"Nothing sweetheart. You go back to sleep, the Lord is watching over us." Martha didn't look at her son, for even as she spoke her prayers continued. She finished her bidding and placed the crucifix on Danny's tiny chest. "I love you Danny, but the Lord has come to claim you and I cannot stand in his way." She kissed him on the forehead and then took a gentle hold on his arms.

Danny slept lightly, he felt his arms moving and woke when the pinching sensation became pain; his whole body seemed much more sensitive since he came home from the hospital.

"Mommy you're hurting me." He cried out. Marthe stood over him, she wore a black dress and her face was pale, almost white. She was busy wrapping the rope around Danny's feet when he tried to raise his head; he was held firm.

"The Archangel Raphael has arrive baby, your pain is almost over." She stood and gently stoked his bare arms.

Danny didn't see the nail, nor the hammer that his mother held in her free hand, but he certainly felt it as his mother drove the nine-inch spike through his wrist. His world exploded in agony, his arm was white-hot and the blood seemed to burn his cold skin.

"Mama stop. You're hurting me." Danny cried between sharp rapid breaths. He tried to move but the rope was tight and his strength all but gone.

"Be still Danny, be strong." She spoke, her voice once again distant and robotic. She walked around the bed and drove another nail through his left wrist.

The blood spurted oner her dress, making it shine in the early evening sun that streamed through the window. Danny felt it speckle his face like a warm rain. His arms beat and throbbed as blood flowed from the wounds, and he could hear it dripping on the laminate floor. By the time his mother drove the spikes through his ankles Danny was only marginally aware of what was going on. Martha had given him as much of his pain medication as she dared without killing him. Still he cried out, his fingers desperately reaching for his mother who ignored his cried. Slowly, the fire began to die, the pain became less, and finally reduced to a dull ache.

His mother didn't speak another word to him, not even as she hauled the wooden board Danny lay on upright, leaning it against the wall of the living room � before the television � at a slight angle. Martha then knelt on the floor before her son, placed her head against his feet and fell into a near silent prayer.

By the time Danny's cries fell silent and his chest still his blood and matted the back of Martha's hair and stuck her skin against that of his feet.

Martha took her son's body down from the board, easily lifting his 30 pound frame and placed is on the sofa. She washed and clothed him before wrapping his body in a new white linen sheet before heading up to bed. She had a long trip in the morning and needed rest.

My goal was to finish editing my book. It sounded so simple those few short weeks ago, but sitting here now, wondering how it can already be May! I find myself not just behind schedule but completely off course.

That being said I am both reading and writing every day and loving the experience. Not just because I am being productive but because it relaxes me.

The problem for me isn't the act of writing or editing, but finding the time to sit down and write and edit.

Work has recently been very busy, and is only getting busier, which has seen me eliminate on average 4 of my 5 lunch breaks a week each is 2.5 hours of writing gone right there. Not to mention the extra levels of tired I have discovered exist by the time I come home each day, put the kids to bed, tidy up a bit It takes me that little bit longer each day to get into the writing groove.

I am also currently writing some freelance articles for a friend of mine in an effort to build up a savings pot to be able to afford some good quality artwork for my novel. This also takes up to an hour a day away from me. Although it is still writing so if I just adjusted my goals slightly to incorporate this new 'project' I could easily pull myself back on track and quite possibly be ahead of schedule.

Having three young children at home (Aged 4, 2 and 9 months (almost)) it is hard to find any time to write while they are awake, not only because they want attention, but because I want to give it to them. Especially during the week I see them so little I could not sit and write and waste the few minutes I get with them. The way I counter this is to get out of bed early. Normally at 5:15 this gives me about 1 hour to write (to myself) and normally enables me to hit my target before the day as begun. OK less often with my editing target than word count targets but you get the gist of it.

That plan used to work well for me, however recently the kids have all taken to waking up at around 5 am, which has successfully remove the writing time I had before work too, thus eliminating 5 hours of writing time per week.I could wake up even earlier and try to write before they wake, but I have to be realistic. I'm not 18 any more, I need those 6 hours of sleep a night to function properly at work, and not be too grumpy during the day.

My eldest son has as of last night come down with the dreaded chickenpox, and so we are sure it is only a matter of time before the other two contract it. Don't get me wrong this is a good thing, because having the disease once means, should you contract it again later in life (which is not likely from what I have been led to believe) then it is a much milder case and actually has its own name. The only hanging point (and when it is with your kids this doesn't matter at all) is the potential for sleepless nights, but then again maybe, just maybe if I am up all night with them, I can catch up with my editing targets while they sleep.

This is not intended to be a review of the movie, at least not in the traditional terms of reviews.

I think the best way for me to start this new installment of What Makes Me Tick by saying I am a huge Clive Barker fan, and am ashamed to say I have not read enough of his work (thankfully there are several books of his at the top of the To Be Read pile on my book shelf.)

The Books of Blood were an inspiration to me, they kept me awake at night, both through fear and the desire to read more. The midnight meat train stood out to me when I read the story, and so what I heard of the movie I was delighted, yet obviously as all book lovers should be, sceptical about how this great story would translate to the silver screen.

The premise of the tale appears simple, a serial killer is at work on the subways of New York City. As the reader / viewer you know this from the very beginning, yet this killer is good, he leaves no trace and so the deaths are marked as missing persons.

The thing that really got me going with this tale was not the blood or the method behind the killers madness � not wanting to spoil it too much but suffice to say it is gruesome and sexual at the same time (especially the book) � but rather the psychological edge to the tale. It isn't your everyday serial killer story, and although you start off knowing who the killer is, and therefore want him to lose in the end, it quickly becomes apparent that there is more to it than a mere lust for bloodshed.

The film captured this perfectly with the way Leon becomes obsessed with this Butcher while distancing himself from his girlfriend. Who obviously starts to suspect him of being the killer. The book and movie differ here greatly with the entire personal life of Leon and how he stumbled upon the 'killer' but it was welcome because it gives the movie a different edge to the novel and stops it from being a carbon copy which is always a disappointment.

As is always the case with Clive Barker there is an element of something sensual about his words, and this was captured very well in the movie but giving the bloodshed a rich and almost over the top role. Many directors could have fallen into the trap of too much blood, but director Ryuhei Kitamura seemed to understand the mind and vision of the Author and capture the moments perfectly.

Of course as with every horror movie or novel the end is bloody, it is frantic and will have you on the edge of your seat, and for those of you who have only seen the film, I implore you to read the book (short story) for no amount of cinematic genius could fully capture what Barker describes as living under the city.

The true turning point of both the book and the movie comes at the end, the real understanding of who the 'killer' was will have you almost feeling sorry for him, and questioning whether he was a killer at all, or simply just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time caught up in something bigger than comprehension can allow.

As I said I do not mean for this to be a review as this entire series is not me reviewing everything I read or watch but rather commenting on those that had a profound affect or influence on me and therefore the review would always be positive.

First I must apologize for not adding a midweek update, but the week was so crazy half of the time I didn't know which way I was facing.

As I am sure you can guess from this I did not hit my target this week. Although on the days I did write / edit I hit my targets with ease so I am happy to blame my hectic schedule rather than a lack of motivation.

I am currently on page 67 of 161 (A4) with my edit and while finishing it with the timeframe of this ROW80 round, I am confident that I will have at least 75% edited and I can live with that.

I decided to keep this post strictly about ROW80 and so actually not much more to add. I should probably change my goals, but I will consider that this week and let you know in my next update.

Thanks for reading and I hope you are all hitting your own goals and having as much fun as I am.

I have also continued my own personal 'habit forming' goal of reading something every day which has been incredibly refreshing.

"Stay alert Max"  Danny Sampson whispered to the large German Shepherd at his side.

As if resenting the question of his alertness the dog pushed his head into the back of his master's knee.

"Alright, alright, I didn't mean anything by it."  Danny answered.

They had been called out for a home invasion but thanks to a raised bridge and some rather uncooperative traffic signals the man had fled by the time they arrive. Even with the blue and twos raging.

"Unit Bravo-Three-Sierra we have arrived at the location, no trace of the suspect but we'll have a sniff around for a while see if he isn't just hiding somewhere. Can you send a car to the other end of the estate and watch the exit onto Hollow Grove. There's a small bike path that seems to be the preferred escape route currently." Danny spoke into the radio attached to his safety vest.

The pair walked side by side, one had his nose low to the ground; trying to pick up a scent, the other with his head held high,  lighting up the hedges and alleyways that lined the street with his flashlight.

There was a crash from one of the alleyways up ahead. A trashcan falling over followed by the sound of footsteps slapping against the wet ground.

"Freeze police" Danny yelled as he caught sight of their suspect not far ahead of where they stood.

The man stopped and turned, caught beneath the halogen glow of the street lamps Danny saw the knife in his hand. Max did too, giving a short yelp just in case his partner hadn't noticed.

'I see it" Danny whispered under his breath.

The stand-off didn't last long, the man turned and fled.

"He's all yours Max." Danny commanded. Max didn't need a second invitation and burst into a run, his powerful body beating the ground as he closed down the gap between him and his target more and more with each leaping step he took. Danny followed behind but could not match the speed of his partner.

The man ran as hard as he could, he felt as if he would fall at any moment, his paces too large to be controlled, but the animal was chasing him and it was a beast. He looked over his should and could see it closing down on him; its  teeth were bared and he could hear it growling like a jet engine.

His lungs burned and his legs felt like jelly, but the man knew if he could make the end of the street then he could try to lose them in dense copse of trees that lined the local park. Hell he could even jump into the water and find a place to hide between the water-bikes that were moored together waiting for the start of summer.

Max knew he could catch the man, it had never really been a matter of if but when. He leaped, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into the man's flesh; he could smell the blood surging through his veins. Instead to brought his front paws down in the center of the man's back and sent him tumbling to the floor. The smell of blood became stronger as the man's face hit the road. By the time Danny had caught up with them Max had his jaws around the man's throat holding him in place. Squeezing hard enough but stopping short of breaking the skin.

'Good going Max" Danny panted, he was sweating slightly and breathing hard. "I'll take it from here." He said, as Max released his hold and stepped backwards. Barking once for good measure.

"You're getting quicker buddy" Danny spoke once he had the man handcuffed and into a sitting position.

"Yeah, it's almost the full moon so I'm much stronger than the rest of the month." Max answered. Danny turned around and gave a laugh. Max was standing on his hing legs which were still covered by the thick pelt of the wolf he was, while his upper half had returned to his human form.

The had been partner for 6 years already and Danny trusted Max more than anybody, but he still felt slightly strange watching his partner actually go through the change. It was the sound of snapping bones and popping joints� it just turned his stomach.