Oh, Forest-Dog. Please give me the instincts to know what to do. Almost as soon as he had finished his thought, the answer came to him. “They’re in trouble. We have to help. . . .”
Mickey licked his chops nervously. “But the Fierce Dogs are so brutal. And how do we know that this isn’t a trap? What if they are pretending to be pups to lure in smaller dogs?” He backed away a couple of paces, bumped into a tree trunk, and spun around, his eyes wild with fear. “We can’t go into the Dog-Garden, Lucky. We can’t.”
They listened to the whimpers a while longer. Lucky thought about what Mickey had said. He remembered the huge, brutish Fierce Dogs with their booming voices, their glossy coats, and ferocious jaws. He struggled to imagine that any of them could mimic these desperate, high-pitched squeals.
And even if they could, was that really something a Fierce Dog would do? Were they so cunning? Their Pack seemed much more fond of attacking directly rather than luring outsiders by trickery.
Lucky saw that Mickey was shaking with fear. How could he drag the black-and-white dog into danger? It would be so easy to sneak past the Dog-Garden. In no time he and Mickey would be lost in the expanses of the forest. If they hurried, they would be clear of the Wild Pack’s old camp and far away by no-sun.
They would be safe.
Another high yap shattered Lucky’s resolve. There were pups down there—frightened pups. They couldn’t just leave them to die. . . .
But do I have the courage to save them?
CHAPTER NINE
The two dogs were silent, their ears pricked as they listened to the whimpers that rose from the Dog-Garden.
“They’re pups,” Lucky barked decisively. “We can’t just ignore them.”
Mickey crouched low to the ground, his tail limp behind him.
“But, Lucky,” he whimpered, “they’re Fierce Dog pups. Their nature is different from ours. They live to fight.”
“Small ones can’t hurt us,” Lucky assured him with more conviction than he actually felt.
The Farm Dog shuddered. “Even if that’s true, what about their Mother-Dog? She can’t be far away. She’s probably out hunting for them, and will be back soon. If she sees us near her pups . . .” His eyes flicked warily around him, drinking in the heavy foliage. It was hard to see beyond thickets and branches.
Lucky raised his snout. “I don’t smell a Mother-Dog. I don’t smell much. . . .”
“That’s what worries me,” said Mickey. “Doesn’t it strike you as strange? There were so many dogs in their Pack, weren’t there? And there are pups in their territory now. So others must be nearby. They’ll be here before long.”
Lucky wasn’t so sure. Most of the scents of adult dogs were stale, with only a few fresher ones, and even they seemed a day old or more.
A high, desperate yip cut through the trees. Lucky’s chest tightened and his whiskers shivered. He couldn’t bear to hear that pitiful sound.
“What Mother-Dog could ignore that?” he asked Mickey. “Those pups are all alone.”
“Fierce Dogs are different,” Mickey whined. “Bella told me . . .”
Lucky’s ears twitched. He thought about the Dog-Garden, with its short-cut grass and bowls of dried nuggets of meat. Bella, Daisy, and Alfie hadn’t been able to believe their luck when they had found all that food—they hadn’t realized that the area was guarded by a Pack of ferocious Fierce Dogs. Lucky winced when he remembered how he had watched, hidden, as the powerful black-and-brown dogs had strutted past on thickly muscled legs, their short, pointed ears pricked up and their lips curled into snarls. He remembered their sharp scents that radiated power and aggression.
He couldn’t sense them now, though.
“We can at least see what’s going on,” said Lucky. “If it’s dangerous, or we smell other dogs, I promise we’ll get out of there right away. But we can’t ignore pups in trouble. And who knows—they could be helpful.”
“Helpful?” said Mickey doubtfully.
“In these strange times, every surviving dog has a role.”
Mickey still looked unsure but he gave a quick, reluctant nod.
Creeping slowly over the soft forest floor, Lucky and Mickey approached the Fierce Dogs’ territory, pausing regularly to sniff the air. The Sun-Dog was high overhead but his light was dim beneath the shade of the trees.
As they neared the fence, tension rippled along Lucky’s back. Mickey was right—it was strange that there were no fresh scents from adult dogs. The tang of their sleek coats seemed old and faded, but it was still enough to make Lucky’s heart thump in his chest and fear crackle beneath his fur.
The two dogs reached the high fence that enclosed the Dog-Garden. Lucky shuddered—such a sinister place, full of horrible memories.
They started circling it warily, seeking the gap where Daisy had dug a hole. Lucky let out a whimper when he found it—the hole was bigger now, much bigger. Stuck to the wire was a clump of glossy black fur.
“Fierce Dogs have been through here,” Mickey whined.
Lucky knew they had. He had seen one near the fence when he’d heard those awful howls of pain. It was inevitable, really. The pointed-eared dogs must have grown used to coming and going as they pleased. Again Lucky caught the faded scent of the huge dogs, and a hint of something else—blood? He had to steady his hind legs, which were starting to tremble as he readied himself to walk back into the Dog-Garden.
He dipped and crawled beneath the wire, Mickey right behind him.
The Dog-Garden had changed since Lucky had last seen it. The neat, clipped lawn had vanished, replaced by high grass and creeping ivy. The shoots of trees had caught hold in a couple of places and thistles grew in spiky clumps. In time it would look like the rest of the forest, except for the low houses with their metal bowls. Lucky approached one. There were no hard nuggets of dry-looking meat in it. Perhaps the food had run out and that was why the Fierce Dogs had left.
“The longpaws haven’t come back here,” Lucky deduced. He had heard about Fierce Dogs before he had encountered them. The longpaws used them because they were ferocious, good at protecting their houses from intruders. Without longpaws to keep them caged and fed, the Fierce Dogs would have no one to control them, no one to tell them what to do. They would answer only to themselves. He tried to push this thought away, resisting the urge to turn on his paws and dash beneath the wire. The young dogs’ whimpers were louder now. They seemed to be coming from the big house.
Lucky and Mickey skulked low in the long grass, treading toward the building, which was raised farther off the ground than the surrounding doghouses. Lucky climbed the wooden stairs to the front door while Mickey held back.
Lucky smelled the pups before he laid eyes on them. Their scent was like the one given off by Nose and Squirm—soft, sweet, and milky. The porch led all the way around the big house. Lucky crept along it, hugging the side of the building. He froze. Three Fierce Dog pups were wriggling in a chaotic bundle on a piece of soft-hide that reminded Lucky of the beds that the Leashed Dogs had been used to before the Big Growl. The pups were peering over the edge of the porch, blinking out at the wilderness. There were no low doghouses there, just grass growing long and wild. He could see the pups’ little snouts and whiskers twitching. They knew that someone was near, though they hadn’t spotted Lucky yet.
Memories of Lucky’s encounter with the Fierce Dogs came back to him.
They could tell I was in their den, even though I stood upwind of them.
Did these pups share those sharp senses?
Like some of the grown Fierce Dogs, they had glossy tan-and-brown fur with darker faces and light muzzles, but these were rounder in shape and less threatening. Soft-furred, long ears hung at the sides of their heads, quite unlike the high, pointed ears of the adult Fierce Dogs.
Silently Lucky retraced his steps around the porch to where Mickey was waiting, out of earshot of the pups.
“There are three of them,” he told Mickey. “They’re all alon
e.”
Mickey’s eyes were huge. “There’s something down there,” he whined in a low voice.
Lucky tensed. “What do you mean?”
Mickey was trembling. Then Lucky caught it—a death scent, rising from the ground beneath their paws. He lowered his muzzle to the wooden floor. There was a narrow gap and through this Lucky could just see a dark, heavy bundle.
His nose twitched at the smell that rose up—a sour-sweet smell, like milk when it had been left in the sun.
Mickey whimpered: “I think it’s their Mother-Dog.”
Lucky gave an agreeing whine. “They’re crying with hunger.” His chest tightened with pity. For a moment he recalled his own Mother-Dog’s sweet, silky fur, and the huddle of his littermates as they gathered around him. “And grief,” he added softly, remembering the howls of pain he had heard when passing the Dog-Garden on his way to the city.
His ears drooped guiltily. Had the howls come from their Mother-Dog?
I did nothing to help her. . . .
Mickey nudged Lucky’s face. “What if the other Fierce Dogs killed her?”
“Why would they do that?” Lucky asked, although he had already suspected the same thing.
Mickey looked out into the long grass. “I don’t know. But then, why would they abandon the pups?”
Lucky had to agree—nothing the Fierce Dogs did made much sense. “I don’t know, Mickey. But we have to go and talk to them, to make sure they’re not in serious trouble.”
Mickey nodded. “Okay, Lucky. You’re right; we can’t just leave them. But let’s agree that if they’re in trouble we will help them as quickly as we can, or take them with us if we have to. We don’t want to hang around for the others to return.”
“Of course,” said Lucky. He stalked back along the edge of the porch with Mickey close behind him. As he turned the corner he saw the puppies huddled together. Their floppy ears pricked up, alert.
“I smell something!” yipped one of the pups, gnashing his small white teeth. The others whipped their heads around. Spotting Lucky and Mickey, they started barking in high-pitched voices.
“Who are you? Go away!” yapped one.
“Our Pack will be back soon!” added another.
Mickey gave Lucky a worried look. “What if he’s right?” he whined. “We don’t want them to find us here.”
“It’s okay,” Lucky told him. “The pup is bluffing. I don’t think anyone else is here.” Lucky studied the young dogs. He noticed that they had short, thin tails, unlike the adult Fierce Dogs, who only had stumps where their tails should be.
Mickey whimpered. “Maybe we’re wrong to think we can help them.”
Lucky was watching the pups, his head cocked. “Can’t you see that they’re frightened? We have to help them.” He took a cautious step toward the pups, who gave off a series of fearful cries, snarls, and high-pitched squawks. Lucky spotted two bowls in front of their soft-hide. One had a puddle of water at its bottom; the other held a few crumbs of dried meat. Lucky dimly remembered that pups weren’t supposed to go more than a few hours without food. They were probably starving.
He crouched in front of the pups, his posture low and unthreatening.
“My name is Lucky. My friend’s name is Mickey. We want to help you. What are your names?”
The three pups stared at Lucky. Did they understand everything he’d just said? He had no idea.
“You’re not part of our Pack! You shouldn’t be here!” one of the male pups yapped.
“Don’t you have names?” Lucky asked.
None of them answered.
Lucky watched them. If they didn’t have names they had to be very young. They needed help—pups this young could not hunt for their food. They would starve to death very quickly.
He glanced at Mickey, who was standing a couple of paces behind him, then turned back to the pups. “We know you must be hungry,” Lucky went on. “We will help you, but we can’t stay here. There’s nothing to eat. We’ll take you somewhere safe, with lots of good food, and space to play in.”
The female pup yipped, her eyes widening hopefully. Her thin tail gave a shy wag and she took a clumsy step toward Lucky. At her side, the smallest pup, a male, whined and licked his lips. He shook his head, revealing a tufty neck that gave him a softer appearance than his littermates.
Only the last pup, the stout male, still looked suspicious. “Go away! You’re not supposed to be here!” he barked angrily. When Lucky approached he snarled and drew back. Lucky glanced beneath his paws at the wooden boards. Somewhere underneath this doghouse, the pups’ Mother-Dog lay dead.
Their introduction to the world was the death of their Mother-Dog, thought Lucky, his chest tightening with sympathy as he remembered his own Mother-Dog. No wonder this pup was so distrustful.
“I understand,” Lucky said, trying his best to sound calm despite a sudden urge to howl in pity. “Really, I do. I was separated from my Mother-Dog when I was a pup, just like you. I still miss her and think about her.” He lowered his muzzle, his ears low.
Even the suspicious pup had stopped barking and all three of them watched Lucky with wide brown eyes.
“Your Mother-Dog has passed now,” Lucky whined. “The best thing you can do is give her over to the Earth-Dog.”
The pups watched him, confusion on their dark, pointed faces.
“Who is the Earth-Dog?” asked the female.
Mickey stepped forward to whine in Lucky’s ear. “If their Pack’s left them behind, we need to make sure they’re with dogs who know how to look after pups. I think we should take them to the Wild Pack.”
Lucky shuffled his paws apprehensively. If he wasn’t welcome in the Pack by himself, how would Alpha react if he came back and brought three Fierce Dog pups with him? “They won’t like it,” he said slowly.
“No . . . but what else can we do?”
It’s true, thought Lucky. These pups need to be around dogs who understand how to take care of them. Dogs like Moon.
Lucky touched Mickey’s muzzle with his nose. “We’ll bring them with us,” he agreed.
He turned back to the pups. “The Earth-Dog is one of the Spirit Dogs,” he told them. “We can tell you about the Earth-Dog along the way.”
“We have to stay here,” the larger male growled.
“I don’t want to leave Mother,” added the female. “I don’t want to give her to any dog!”
Lucky’s chest tightened. He settled down in front of the pups. “I’m sorry. I know how hard this must be for you. I was so sad when I had to say good-bye to my Mother-Dog. But only Earth-Dog can look after her now.”
The pups gazed at him, wide-eyed.
“Will we be able to see our Mother-Dog again if she’s with the Earth-Dog?” asked the smallest male, who had hardly said a word until then. His short tail gave a hopeful wag and Lucky swallowed, grief crashing over him. How could he describe death to a pup? How could he explain things he barely understood himself?
“In a way,” Mickey piped up. “You just need to close your eyes and remember. You won’t see her . . . but you’ll be able to feel her. She’ll be all around you. In the earth beneath your paws, in the air you breathe. With the clouds in the sky and the sun and the rain.”
Lucky’s tail wagged at the memory of his own Mother-Dog, and the safety and warmth of the Pup-Pack.
“Can you show us how?” asked the female.
“Of course,” said Mickey.
A lone crow cackled in the forest and the black-and-white dog flinched. “It’s getting late,” he murmured.
Lucky looked up to see a deeper blue beyond the wall of trees outside the Dog-Garden. The fur along his back prickled as he wondered, would the grown Fierce Dogs be back before no-sun? Would they be back at all? He turned to the pups. “We have a journey to go on, but for now, we need to get to work. Later Mickey will help you to remember your Mother-Dog. I promise.”
The pups seemed to accept this. Lucky and Mickey led them to the wo
oden steps that took them from the porch to the ground. Mickey leaned forward to scoop up the largest male by the scruff but the pup squirmed free, shaking his tail and flanks proudly. He half jumped, half flopped down each step. His brother and sister followed, all three gathering in an excited cluster at the bottom.
The pups watched as Lucky found an earthy, shaded spot by the side of the big house where the grass was patchy. He started to dig as quickly as he could, pitching up dry soil. Mickey joined him.
After a few minutes of watching the digging in silence, the female pup drew closer. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Lucky stopped digging. “It’s a ritual. We’re going to offer your Mother-Dog to the Earth-Dog. It will help her to refind the earth and the air, to be part of the world again—but in another way, like Mickey said.”
The female pup was silent. The smaller of her littermates stood shyly behind her, licking his chops and gazing at the shallow hole that Lucky and Mickey had dug in the ground. Only the larger male pup looked on with narrowed eyes.
Lucky was about to start digging again when he saw the female pup padding through the long grass and sniffing. He approached, his ears pricked up. He could now see that the pup was licking something that looked like a dark bundle next to a knot of ivy. It had been hidden in the grass.
Mickey followed his gaze and whined. He was standing nearer to the bundle and the female pup, and he watched her, fear crossing his eyes. “I think it’s another pup. . . .” He addressed the female. “Come back, little one! Stay here.”
The female pup looked up. “He’s hurt. . . .” she whimpered.
“There’s nothing you can do for him now,” said Mickey.
Lucky winced. After a moment, the female pup abandoned the bundle and joined her brothers near the base of the big house.
Lucky trod through the grass to the small, limp body. Like the Mother-Dog, he had probably died a day or two before. The metallic scent of blood still clung to his fur. Lucky could make out the imprint of teeth—teeth shaped like his own—at the puppy’s neck below an unusual blast of white fur that resembled the shape of a fang. Lucky gasped. The pup had been attacked and killed; that much was obvious.