Free The Wild Things by Dave Eggers Page B

full sentence:
    "Is it twisted?"
    This one was standing, showing his back to another, who was sitting at his feet. They seemed to have fallen through the wall of one of the huts, and the first was asking for help, assessing possible injuries to his spine.
    "Yeah, it's kind of twisted," said the second.
    The two gathered themselves up and ran off.
    Max squatted down again, determined to watch a bit longer, to try and parse what was happening and why.
    One creature seemed to be leading the melee. He had a big round face, sharp horns like a viking's and dark bags under his eyes. He was getting ready to run toward one of the nests when the rooster-looking creature approached him and put his hand -- it wasn't a wing; he seemed to have hands and claws -- on his shoulder.
    "Carol, can I speak to you for a second?"
    Max was astounded. Had that sentence just been uttered? It was said with such casual sophistication that his conception of the creatures was exploded. They weren't just grunting monsters: they spoke like people.
    "Not now, Douglas," the big one, Carol, said, and moved the rooster to one side. Then Carol got a running start and barreled into the side of one of the nests, knocking it to splinters.
    Meanwhile, a giant bull-like creature was running into various walls at even greater speed. He seemed disconnected, though, not seeking out anyone's approval or interacting in any meaningful way.
    "Good job," Max said to him.
    The bull stared at Max, but said nothing. Then he turned away, moving like a ship, and lumbered off.
    Max could now see that a smaller creature was upset about all the activity. This one resembled a goat, standing upright and with white-grey fur. He was the shortest and thinnest of the creatures by far, closer to Max's size than the others. He was yelling "Stop!" and "Why are you doing this?" and in between whimpering in a way Max thought kind of unappealing. He was pointedly ignored by the rest of the beasts.
    Max watched and listened until he had a sense of all of their names and how they fit into what he had begun to understand was some kind of family.

    There was the rooster. His name was Douglas. He seemed logical and even-tempered, and didn't appreciate the way that Carol was trying to amuse himself and the others.

    Carol, the main instigator and heartiest of the destroyers, was the biggest, the strongest, the loudest. His fur bore horizontal stripes on his torso like some kind of sweater, and his claws were huge and cleaver-sharp.
    There was the female one with the horn and the red mop of hair. Her name was Judith, and she had a sharp, pokey voice and a harsh cackle for a laugh.

    Max was having trouble keeping them straight, so using his Kodiak-drawing skills, he started sketching in the dirt under him, attaching names to his crude renderings.

    Ira was the bulb-nosed one, and he seemed to be always close to Judith. Max guessed they might even be a couple, though a strange one. He had a sad sort of aura and poor posture.
    There was the goat-shaped one, Alexander, with a snarl for a face and pin-thin legs. He was just a little bigger than Max.
    And then there was the bull. He was gigantic, maybe thirteen feet high, and seemed built entirely of muscle and stone. He hadn't said a word yet.

    That made six. Six of the beasts overall. Wait. No, seven. There was one who didn't seem to be participating in the destruction. She had a melancholy face and was sitting off by herself, on a boulder overlooking the chaos. With long straw-brown hair and little ears poking through, she had sweet, gentle eyes and fangs that despite their size (about as big as Max's hands) seemed kind of cute.

    Now Carol, the biggest one, was tossing Alexander, the goat, high into the air. He would toss him twenty or thirty feet, then catch him and toss him higher. It looked dangerous and crazy and Max very much wanted to be the goat. He wanted to be thrown, he wanted to fly, he wanted to knock things down.

    After the fourth toss,