She suddenly glanced at Arrow and realized that she had never really told him, or Bella, about what had made her leave the Wild Pack. They hadn’t asked—perhaps they thought it was none of their business, or that she would talk if she wanted to.
“Arrow,” she murmured, “can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he said, lying down on his side in the grass, sniffing at a passing beetle.
“Do you ever regret leaving the Pack? The Wild Pack?”
“Ha!” Arrow let out an amused bark, then cringed, glancing at the den where Bella was presumably trying to get the two pups back to sleep. “No, Storm, I don’t. Not that Bella and I had much of a choice,” he added, and his voice was quiet but it was angry. “It was made perfectly clear that we had no place there. I’m much happier with just us. I don’t need to scrape and whine for acceptance, just because I was born into Blade’s Pack. I betrayed her to save their necks, that Ice Wind, and yet they treated me like I was going to turn into her at any moment. There were plenty of dogs in your old Pack I didn’t like one bit anyway, and I certainly don’t miss them.”
Storm huffed a heavy breath through her teeth. His candid opinion chimed with hers so closely, and yet, for all their prejudice and stupidity, she liked most of the Wild Pack. Or she had.
“Which dogs didn’t you like?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Let me think,” Arrow said drily. “I certainly don’t miss Chase picking her fleas all the time, or Mickey drooling in his sleep and making the bedding damp.”
Storm cocked her head to one side. Those were annoying habits, she had to admit—but when she thought of Mickey’s lolling tongue getting stuck to the moss, or Chase trying to scratch the back of her own head on a tree trunk, all she really felt was a rush of fondness for her old Packmates.
“I can see your point,” she said. “But you have to admit, those are pretty small complaints. They’re good dogs, at heart.”
“Hmm,” said Arrow. “Most of them, yes. Most of them were just weak.”
Storm stared at him, and he shook his head.
“You know it’s true. Take Sweet and Lucky, for instance. They talked a big talk about protecting their Pack and their pups, but they were weak and scared. They said they loved you, and . . . well, I don’t doubt they did. But they never stood up to help you when the others turned against you. I don’t talk about this with Bella,” he added, lowering his voice even more. “He’s her litter-brother. She doesn’t want to think about how much he failed us.”
Storm felt as if she was trying to walk into a strong wind—Arrow’s feelings were so like her own, and so not like them, all at the same time. She didn’t know whether to wag her tail or let it droop.
“I can admit that Sweet and Lucky were trying to be good Packmates, but they failed,” Arrow went on. “I can’t be so kind about some of the others. Breeze, for example.”
“Really?” Storm said, cocking one ear curiously. “You don’t think Breeze was trying to be a good Packmate?”
“Humph. I don’t know about that. All I know is, she was a cruel and sneaky dog, and I wouldn’t have her in my Pack for all the fish in the lake.”
“Cruel?” Storm repeated. She thought about Breeze, wondering if Arrow had somehow gotten her mixed up with some other dog. She supposed his comments about Lucky and Sweet hadn’t come as a big surprise, but he seemed to be saying that Breeze was actually a bad dog.
“Oh yes. I was surprised that Sweet and Lucky let her spend so much time with their pups—but of course, they probably didn’t know. I had a bad feeling about her while I was in the Pack, but it wasn’t until after we’d left that I learned she used to go on hunts and bring back prey just for herself.”
Storm recoiled, shocked. “No! But—Breeze wasn’t even a hunt dog, she was a scout!”
“Well, perhaps she didn’t make a habit of it. I only saw her do it once. But believe me, I know what I saw. It was after we’d left the Pack, but not the territory. I was hunting, and I saw Breeze with my own eyes, heading back in the direction of the camp all by herself, with a rabbit in her jaws. And she hadn’t even killed it. The poor creature was struggling, in pain. She should have snapped its neck, but she was just letting it suffer while she slunk through the bushes, making sure no dog saw her. Like I said: cruel.”
Storm sat back on her haunches, staring up at the Moon-Dog.
Breeze . . . cruel and sneaky?
She couldn’t believe it—it didn’t match at all with the sweet-natured, helpful dog that Storm thought she knew. But at the same time, she was certain that Arrow wouldn’t lie to her. And it was unlikely he could have been mistaken, either—he was sharp-eyed and he would know what he saw.
But if it’s true . . . what else didn’t I know about my Packmates?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Storm padded along the edge of the stream, her senses on high alert for any scent or sound of prey moving near the water. Everything needed water, she reasoned, and she could do with finding some bigger prey—the pups would be weaned soon, and they seemed to have bottomless appetites.
She felt refreshed from the extra sleep she’d had that morning after she and Arrow had drifted off in the middle of the clearing.
She tried not to think too much about the Wild Pack. After all, their problems were no longer her problems. She had plenty of her own—like hunting down a meal for three adult dogs and two pups just starting to eat prey, patrolling a territory, pup-sitting, and now apparently keeping out snakes too. She couldn’t dwell on anything Arrow had said.
Luckily, before she could begin to dwell on it anyway, she caught a strong scent of rabbit around the edge of the stream. If she could catch a nice fat rabbit or two, that would go a long way toward feeding her Pack. She followed the scent, leaving the stream, and soon found herself at the top of a small, sloping meadow. It was exactly the kind of place where rabbits loved to nest—but she knew if they had dug their dens deep into the hillside, she would never be able to dig them out all by herself. The only way to catch one of these rabbits was going to be by stealth. She made sure that the wind wasn’t carrying her scent across the meadow, and then lowered her belly to the ground and shuffled carefully forward.
Slowly, taking the greatest care not to make any sudden movements, she raised her head until she could peer over the tops of the long blades of grass.
Yes. There were several rabbits outside their dens, lolloping around the meadow, and they seemed totally unaware of Storm’s presence. She narrowed her eyes, and soon she had picked out a nice big one. It moved slowly, one hop at a time, stopping frequently to eat the grass and stare at the sky with slightly bulging eyes.
Storm didn’t move. She settled down to wait. If she sprang too soon, they would outpace her and be deep in their dens before she could catch one. If she waited too long, one of them might scent her there, and the same thing would happen.
Come a little closer, she goaded the nice fat rabbit. Come on, over here . . . tasty grass here. . . .
Almost as if it’d heard her, the rabbit turned in Storm’s direction. She bunched her muscles, ready to spring, and held her breath, and then . . .
She was on the rabbit, her teeth in its neck, before it had time to react. The other rabbits thumped across the meadow and dived into their dens, but Storm didn’t care. She killed the rabbit with a hard shake that broke its spine cleanly and, Storm thought, probably almost painlessly.
. . . she hadn’t even killed it. The poor creature was struggling, in pain . . .
Arrow’s voice echoed in Storm’s head as she looked down at the prey creature.
There was nothing wrong with killing for food, of course. And there was nothing wrong with enjoying the hunt, either. But that was just it—there was satisfaction in well-caught prey, in the heart-pounding chase but also in the quick, clean kill.
Not in suffering.
Storm picked up the limp rabbit in her jaws and turned away from the meadow. There wou
ld be no more rabbits to catch there today, but in a day or two, perhaps.
A flurry of wind filled her nose with scents from the opposite bank of the stream. As she breathed in the now-familiar musk of wolf, she realized she must be closer to their territory than she had thought. She knew that she ought to take the prey straight back to camp, but as she walked along the bank of the cool stream, she found herself looking across it, thinking of Peaceful and Thoughtful.
She hadn’t seen any of the wolves since the pups were born. That was probably a good thing. She certainly didn’t want to run into any of the wolves that had caught her last time. But when she thought about Nip and Scramble, playing happily and sleeping curled up with their parent-dogs, she was flooded with a desire to find the two wolves that had helped them so much. She would like to talk to them again.
Storm cast around for somewhere safe to leave the rabbit and found a hollow tree, perhaps where a bird had nested once, though it smelled as if the bird was long gone. She left her prey in the hollow, hoping that the strange hiding spot would keep it away from any other hunters that came along, and gingerly crossed the shallow stream.
The Sky-Dogs had had a brief tussle the previous day, and there had been a short squall that left some muddy ground around the streambed, dotted with leaves that were starting to break up and decay.
Excellent. Storm lay down and rolled in the mud and leaves, taking a puppyish delight in how thoroughly she could cover herself. Far more delight than she had felt when Mickey first taught her this trick to disguise her scent, back when she actually was a pup.
When she thought she might smell more of earth than of dog, she slipped through the trees and onto the wolf Pack’s territory.
She moved carefully, one pawstep at a time, remembering the way the wolves had come upon her out of nowhere. The scratch on her back was healed, but she felt it itching as she remembered the Wolf Alpha’s claws coming down.
Then again, it had been dark, and she had run into the middle of their territory howling at the top of her lungs for help. She liked to think that if she was trying not to be caught, she would have a much better chance. Besides, even if she was, Thoughtful had said she had one warning left. She didn’t want another scratch, but she could think of worse things.
She followed a scent line that seemed to form a sort of boundary—perhaps the official edge of the territory, according to the wolves—around through the trees to her right, and then up a rocky slope. Thinking of the shape of the valley, she guessed that she would come out on the longpaw-made cliff. And sure enough, she climbed and climbed, and then pushed through between two bushes and found herself on a small ledge, high above the small, still lake and the wolf Pack’s camp.
It seemed as if she had come just in time to witness some sort of gathering. The camp was full of wolves—so many of them, it was incredible to watch—some of them lounging in the sun, others lying in small groups, grooming or playing with one another, or dipping their long muzzles into the cool lake.
Storm kept her head low, as far back from the edge as she could go without losing her view. Slowly, the wolves began to converge on the center of the camp, forming a ring around one wolf. At first, Storm assumed this was the Alpha, but this wolf didn’t seem as imposing.
It’s Peaceful! Storm realized, with a sharp stab of anxiety. She told herself to stay calm—after all, a Healer must have plenty of cause to address their Pack.
But then the Wolf Alpha stepped forward out of the ring and turned slowly, addressing the Pack in a growl that rang out clearly up on Storm’s ledge.
“It is Full Moon,” she said. “And we have howled to our ancestors for the past two nights. Today I bring Peaceful, our Healer, before you to invoke Full Truth. Peaceful,” she turned to the Healer, who stood tall and proud and still under the gazes of her Packmates. “You understand that under the Full Moon, you are bound to tell the truth?”
Bound? How? Storm wondered, her stomach dropping even more.
“Yes, Alpha,” said Peaceful in a clear voice.
“Then let us once and for all get to the bottom of this matter. Peaceful: under the Full Moon, in front of your Pack, do you deny that you helped that raggedy band of dogs that lives just beyond our borders, dares to call itself a Pack, and harbors a mutt who has repeatedly violated our territory?”
“No, Alpha,” said Peaceful. “I do not deny it.”
A howl of anger and shock went up from the wolves. It seemed to get right under Storm’s skin. She searched the wolf faces for Thoughtful and found him—not howling, but whining, his head hanging low.
“This is a crime of four parts,” snarled the Alpha, and Storm shuddered. What was that Thoughtful had told her about four things? That she should hope she never got to the fourth warning? “You spoke secretly to a dog. You assisted a dog. You acknowledged dog territory, and you lied to your Pack. Did you do these things?”
Just tell them no! Storm willed Peaceful. How can the Full Moon force you to tell the truth? That doesn’t make any sense!
But she already knew the gentle Healer wolf too well to believe that she would lie.
Peaceful’s stance still didn’t give away any fear, but this time there was a tremble in her voice as she spoke.
“I did, Alpha.”
More howls and mutterings from the other wolves, and now some of them were snarling and snapping their jaws at Peaceful.
“Traitor!” one of the wolves barked.
“She nurtures our enemies!” said another one, a Mother-Wolf with a litter of large cubs around her feet.
Storm’s fur prickled and her heart ached with the familiarity of it. She knew what it was like, to have done what was right and be punished for it. She remembered the pregnant fox she had spared from being wounded. The wolves obviously thought themselves superior to dogs, the same way dogs did to foxes.
Peaceful raised her head high.
“I did these things, and I stand by them. I entered the dog camp to help one of them get through a birth that would have killed her and all her pups. Whether we like it or not, dogs are our distant kin. I could not stand by and watch an innocent dog, who has done nothing to me, suffer and die so horribly. Her pups are not so different from your cubs, Careful,” she added. “And I would never let cubs die if I could prevent it.”
This was obviously the wrong thing to say. The Mother-Wolf, Careful, looked a little less bloodthirsty, and so did a small handful of others—but the rest of them only bayed louder.
“Compare us to dogs?” one of the wolves howled. “Are you mad?”
“How dare you!” another growled. “Take that back!”
They really hate dogs, Storm thought. And yet, clearly not all of them . . .
“QUIET!” the Wolf Alpha howled, and at once a cold silence fell across the valley. Storm thought even the birds had stopped singing. “Peaceful is one of our own, and we take care of our own. But we do not tolerate betrayal, either. My command is that Peaceful will be exiled from the Pack for two days. She must leave our territory and not reenter it until High Sun on the third day.”
Storm saw Thoughtful’s ears droop sadly. She was puzzled—exile for two days hardly seemed like much punishment at all! It was not enough time to get truly hungry, or even lonely.
After all, I should know. I had no choice but to go into exile.
“When you return,” the Alpha went on, turning to Peaceful, “you will be given the chance to apologize. If you are still unrepentant, other punishments will be in store. Now, go.”
Peaceful started walking, and the ring of wolves opened up to let her pass. The Alpha sat back on her haunches and watched, as the closest wolves snapped their teeth at Peaceful, and barked, and began to follow her. Without looking back, Peaceful broke into a run, with the snapping jaws and angry barking of her own Pack at her heels. Even Thoughtful was there, running along at the back of the group, not snarling at his litter-sister but seeming to go along with the Pack’s wishes.
Storm looked
on with horror and guilt, pressing her belly to the stone.
I need to get out of here. Thoughtful’s right—I really don’t want to find out what happens to a dog after the fourth warning.
She turned and hurried down the rocky slope, as fast as she could go without tripping or sending loose stones rattling ahead of her. She made it to the stream without hearing the heavy tread of wolf pawsteps or any more howls of fury. The rabbit was still where she had left it, and she pulled it out of its hollow tree stump and began to walk, slowly, back to the camp.
There were five mouths to feed back at the camp, and she knew it was the right thing to do. But all the way, Peaceful’s gentle voice speaking up for her, for Bella, echoed in her mind. After all, she was right. As different as they might be, dogs and wolves were distant kin. And without her help, Bella, Nip, and Scramble would all have died along with poor Tufty.
When she reached the camp, Storm had made up her mind.
It’s time I repaid Peaceful for her kindness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Storm lay on her belly in the grass at the edge of the rabbit meadow, watching them intently. She hadn’t intended to come back so soon, but then her plans had changed.
It seemed that she had caught the biggest, least observant rabbit in the meadow yesterday. She lay in the grass for what felt like a frustratingly long time. Prey passed by, some of them so close Storm could almost have snapped them up without moving—but she held herself back, knowing that if she missed, they would go to ground and the hunt would be over. She waited, letting her scent mingle with the grass, until finally two smaller rabbits hopped toward her.
Two small rabbits will do, she thought, instead of one big one.
She waited and waited, until finally they were almost right on top of her nose, and then she sprang, seizing one rabbit in her jaws and smacking the other to the ground with her paws. It was a neat kill, and she left the meadow with the prey swinging from her mouth, feeling warm and smug.