by Erin Hunter
Could Chase be the bad dog? I know Lucky trusts her, but Lucky trusts every dog.
That’s his weakness. . . .
CHAPTER NINE
Dawn was breaking as Storm slipped back into camp, the early rays of the Sun-Dog burnishing the pine trunks and turning the low mist silvery-gold. It was easy enough to sneak past the Patrol Dogs, now that their numbers were stretched so thin. That should worry me, thought Storm. But there’s so much more to worry about. And I don’t think the biggest danger lies outside the camp.
How strange it is, she realized as she stepped across the boundary and felt the weight of fear settle once more on her shoulders. The borders of the camp are what protect us . . . or rather, they are supposed to. Instead, it feels like they’re trapping us. We’re penned together inside our own territory, like dogs in a Trap House, and danger is right in here with us.
Still, Storm felt a huge sense of relief as she crept back into her den. She did not want any dog to know she had been wandering alone in the night—not even the ones who were aware of her unnerving problem, like Daisy, Twitch, and Lucky. Some of my Packmates mistrust me enough already. I can’t give them any more reasons to suspect me.
She felt guilty and ashamed, but she played the part of a dog who had slept the night through in her den, emerging a little while later to stretch and yawn and claw the dewy grass. As it was, she was attracting a few suspicious glances and sidelong stares. Storm ignored them all—she supposed she couldn’t blame them for being afraid, even though she could blame them for casting their fears onto her.
Her own attention was focused on Chase. The little dog was well aware of her gaze, Storm realized: She kept turning to meet Storm’s stare, her own eyes nervous. Her tail twitched and she shook herself uncomfortably as Storm watched her go about her morning duties. Chase is keeping as much distance as she can between us, Storm noticed.
I should try not to alert her. But still she couldn’t tear her attention away from the small scout dog.
“Storm!” Alpha was padding toward her across the clearing, her ears pricked.
Storm jumped up, glad to have a distraction. “Yes, Alpha?”
“I’m going to send you out hunting with Chase and Thorn, but I want you to combine that with patrolling.” The swift-dog swept her tail thoughtfully back and forth. “Because we’re so short of Packmates, we are going to have to start doubling up on duties. Just keep an eye on the borders as you hunt.”
“Absolutely, Alpha.” Storm nodded.
“Wait, Alpha!” Moon was bounding over. “Did I hear you mention Thorn?”
“Yes.” Alpha flicked her ears back, surprised. “What’s wrong, Moon?”
“I don’t think Thorn should be going out just now.” Moon’s gaze slid toward Storm, and though she quickly looked back toward Alpha, Storm felt a sting of hurt in her chest.
“What, Moon?” she growled. Is she really afraid that if Thorn goes out in my company, I’ll end up hurting her? I thought Moon was on my side—I saved her from that pit! I’d expect this from Snap, but not from Moon. . . .
Alpha stepped between them before the black-and-white Farm Dog could reply. “There’s no reason why Thorn shouldn’t go out just now,” she told Moon crisply. “Storm, go find her.” Alpha paused, then said, “I’ve chosen Storm to lead this hunt. She is a powerful and trustworthy young dog. Do you disagree with my judgment, Moon?” There was a warning in Alpha’s eyes.
Moon’s ears went back and she shook her head. “Of course not, Alpha. Storm . . . I’m sorry.”
Storm nodded, trying not to let her relief show on her face.
“You can tell Beetle at the same time that I want him on High Watch,” Alpha added. “Breeze is going there, too. I want dogs to take High Watch in pairs from now on; it’s safer.”
Chase, ears swiveling toward Alpha, padded up. “You want me on patrol?” she asked. “Did I hear you right, Alpha?”
“A combined hunt and patrol,” Alpha corrected her. “We have to use all dogs’ talents more flexibly from now on. Go on, Storm. Go and find Thorn.”
Moon looked sulky, but she remained silent as Storm and Chase padded off. Storm could feel her haunches prickling with the Farm Dog’s glare, but she didn’t turn to look back. I mustn’t lose my temper—even though I have good reason to. That would be disastrous right now.
She slanted a look at Chase, pacing silently at her side. The scout dog was keeping quite a distance from her—a little farther than Storm would be able to lunge, she couldn’t help noticing. Tension crackled between them; Storm could feel it in the rising hairs of her hide. She was too angry, though, to break the silence herself. The resentment simmered hot in her throat and chest. Sending me and Chase out together—this is the worst pairing imaginable right now! Can’t Alpha feel it?
Not a word was spoken between the two dogs as they padded through the trees, so Storm heard Beetle and Thorn before she saw them. Twigs cracked, a body thumped against another body, and there was a protesting yelp.
“Beetle, you have to come at me lower!”
“We’re supposed to be practicing for a fight,” came his growl. “Block me properly if you don’t want to be hurt! I can’t help it if your jaw got in the way.”
“That’s not the point, you idiot. There’s no point attacking a tall creature high up! Then they can get at your belly!”
“Not if I’m fast enough.” Paws pounded through leaves and there was another thud, and the rustle of forest litter as a dog rolled. “Thorn! That’s cheating; stop dodging!”
“It would dodge.”
“No, it wouldn’t, it might have a stick or something. Face me head-on—I’m the one who needs to be ready to dodge if it tries to hit me!”
“Fine! Just remember I’m not the enemy. Attack lower down, I tell you. Don’t go for my throat first—knock my legs away!”
Storm broke into a bound and pushed through a tangle of shrubs into a small clearing. “Hey, you two. What are you doing?” She tilted her head and frowned as they both turned toward her.
“Practicing our fighting,” said Beetle sullenly. His tail was low, and he shot his litter-sister a glance that was half-angry, half-guilty. Thorn nodded, almost imperceptibly, and sat back on her haunches.
“We need to be ready for something like a giantfur,” Thorn told Storm defiantly. “Especially if the Pack’s moving on somewhere else. We could bump into anything.”
Storm narrowed her eyes and looked from Thorn to Beetle. His tail was twitching nervously at the tip, a giveaway sign that he was hiding something. “Giantfurs don’t use sticks. And the best tactic for a dog to use on a giantfur is to run.”
“Well . . . it’s like Thorn said,” mumbled Beetle, glowering at the ground. “We need to be ready for anything.”
Chase had followed Storm through the bushes and was looking suspiciously at the two young dogs. “That doesn’t sound like any fighting I’ve ever heard of. You’d be better off practicing moves that’ll be useful against a bigger dog. That’s what you’re more likely to meet, and there are all sorts of tricks you can use. Practice those—anything else is a waste of time and energy.”
Storm blinked and forced herself not to look at her hunt companion. Have you been trying out those tricks against a bigger dog lately, Chase? She gave Thorn and Beetle a low growl. “Anyway, whatever you’re doing, it’s time to stop. Alpha wants you to come on a hunt with us, Thorn. We’ll be patrolling the borders as we go. Beetle, you’re to join Breeze up on High Watch.”
“Fine.” Thorn shook bits of leaf and twig and soil from her fur and trotted forward. “That sounds like a good idea.” She hesitated. “Storm, listen . . . can you not mention to any other dog what we were doing? You too, Chase.”
Storm flicked an ear forward. “Why not?”
Thorn glanced at Beetle, a look of slight embarrassment on her face. “We want to get it right. It’s hopeless trying to practice when lots of dogs are giving you different advice.”
Beet
le growled in agreement, shooting a meaningful glance at Chase.
“All right,” said Storm doubtfully. It seemed a strange request, but Beetle and Thorn were proud and prickly. I guess they’d hate to make fools of themselves, especially after Chase and I have both told them they’re doing it all wrong. Besides, the tension in the camp is still so high, it’s probably not a good idea to get any other dog thinking about fighting. “We won’t let on that you’re trying out new moves. Not till you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” Thorn wagged her tail and trotted happily to Storm’s side. “I’m ready to go. Which direction?”
Storm felt grateful to her. Thorn didn’t flinch or avert her eyes or keep her distance; she even licked Storm’s muzzle in a friendly gesture.
“Out toward the meadow first, I think, Thorn. We need to more or less circle the camp. Beetle, you’d better head up to High Watch. Breeze must be there already.”
“I’m on my way.” Beetle turned with a flick of his tail and loped from the clearing.
Thorn stayed companionably close to Storm’s flank as the dogs headed toward the meadow, while Chase scampered ahead to scout for prey. With the small dog out of earshot, Storm could forget about her, and she found herself glad, after all, about Alpha’s choice of her other hunting partner. Thorn seemed to know instinctively when Storm needed her to head off and circle a likely spot, and she was on constant alert, her nose sniffing the air and the undergrowth, her ears pricked high. Best of all, Thorn was easy company. She didn’t fidget and jump all the time, as if expecting Storm to turn and tear out her throat.
I’d almost forgotten how relaxing that is.
Storm was reminded, though, every time Chase doubled back to make a report. The little dog’s head would appear through the bushes, and she’d give Storm a hard and wary glance before telling her where the rabbits were concentrated, or where she’d scented out a likely nest of voles.
She’s making me nervous, Storm realized. Is she watching me like that because she’s frightened of me? Or is it for some other reason?
She might be working out how to catch me unawares. . . .
“There’s a big warren up ahead,” Chase told them on her third report. “The rabbits are enjoying the sunshine; they don’t look alarmed. If we approach from downwind, we can get close enough to catch at least two.”
Storm suppressed a shudder. They’re enjoying the sunshine. They don’t look alarmed. We can get close enough. . . .
Is that how you creep up on everything, Chase?
She shook herself. Don’t be ridiculous, Storm—that’s how every dog hunts. Don’t start feeling sorry for a bunch of rabbits just because she’s making you nervous. “That’s good, Chase. Thanks. Thorn, why don’t you take the northern flank?”
Thorn tilted her head to one side. “I thought Alpha wanted us not to hunt alone?”
Storm gave a nod. “We’re still hunting together. I’ll stay low in the grass and go at them head-on from here, and you should be able to intercept them when they run.”
“Great, Storm,” said Thorn enthusiastically. She spun around and bounded toward the edge of the meadow.
It worked just as Storm had hoped. By the time the rabbits had fled in a panic toward Thorn’s ambush, and Storm and Chase had made havoc among the stragglers, they had caught three rabbits between them: two sizable bucks and a smaller doe. Storm stood panting over the corpses, pleased with the result.
“Good work, Thorn. And you, Chase. Right, we’d better not rest on our paws. Let’s keep looking.” She gave a sharp, low bark as the small dog turned away. “Chase, wait!”
Chase glanced back, one ear pricked, a distinct nervousness in her eyes. The whites showed at their edges. “What?”
She looks like she thinks I’m going to bite her head off. Storm bit back her resentment. “Don’t go too far, that’s all. Stay in barking distance, and don’t go farther than we can smell you. Thorn’s right; Alpha doesn’t want any of us to go off alone.”
“Fine.” With a nod, Chase bounded ahead again. Storm flicked an ear toward the undergrowth; yes, she could still hear the rustle of the smaller dog as she moved through the scrub. If there was trouble, she and Thorn could be with Chase in moments.
Thorn trotted at Storm’s side once more, calmer now that she’d used up some energy. “Storm, can I ask you something?” Even for a dog tired from a hunt, Thorn sounded subdued.
Storm twitched her other ear toward her. “Of course. What is it?”
Thorn seemed lost in thought for a few paces, as though arranging her words before she spoke. Pausing, she snuffled at a tree stump, then walked on.
“It’s about the day my Father-Dog died. Our Father-Dog.”
Storm’s heart sank. I’m not good at this kind of conversation. . . .
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” Thorn went on. “Beetle and I—well, we were so young back then. Moon didn’t tell us many of the details of what happened to him. I suppose she wanted to spare us.”
“I suppose she did,” Storm mumbled. Desperately she sniffed the air, almost hoping she’d have to break off this discussion to run to Chase’s aid. But the small dog’s scent was still clear, and there was no tang of fear or panic in it. She’s fine. And that’s good. But quick, Chase, find some prey before I have to answer any awful questions about Fiery. . . .
Thorn was still talking. “Moon won’t talk about that day, but you were there, Storm. You sneaked out of camp and followed the search party. You were younger than us, even, but you saw what happened. You had to deal with that knowledge then. So I think we can now.”
Storm’s heart plummeted even further. “Are you sure?”
Thorn nodded. “I want to know the truth about that day, Storm. Beetle does too. Will you tell us what happened? We want to know how our Father-Dog lost his life.”
Storm’s pawsteps slowed. This might be awkward and difficult for her, but Thorn had a point. “I think that’s fair,” she said at last, quietly.
But I’m not sure I want to remember. The details were awful. I’d forgotten how young I was. A shiver ran beneath her fur, for more than one reason. I wasn’t even Storm then; I was still Lick.
But Thorn’s right. She and Beetle have a right to know about that day.
She looked into Thorn’s eyes—wide, and full of desperate hope—and she knew that she was going to have to walk back into this terrible memory.
“I don’t remember all the details,” she said at last, truthfully. “But I guess I remember enough. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Thank you, Storm,” said Thorn. She gave her a sideways glance, her eyes nervous but hopeful.
“It was so unexpected,” Storm began. “I remember Fiery got caught in some kind of tangle of ropes. There was nothing he could do—and nothing we could do to help him. Fiery made us leave him.” In a thornbush beside the two dogs, dew had caught on a spider’s web, sparkling and pretty; but the fragile threads trembled from the hopeless struggles of a fly. The spider was already moving deliberately toward its catch. “It was like that,” Storm said softly, nodding toward the web. “No dog could help.”
Thorn shivered and swallowed. “I remember you coming back to the Food House and telling us. And I remember how our old Alpha said there was nothing we could do, that we had to leave him. Moon was furious.”
“I know,” Storm sighed. “Remember how determined she was? If no other dog would go after Fiery, she was going to go alone.”
“She faced down the old Alpha,” said Thorn quietly. “That big, scary half wolf. And Lucky too, and some of the others. I was so proud, and Beetle and I wanted to go with them, but Moon wouldn’t let us.”
“Lucky wouldn’t let me go, either,” said Storm with an amused growl. “That’s why I had to sneak after them.”
“I wish we had, too,” muttered Thorn.
“I know,” said Storm hesitantly. “But, Thorn? I think it’s for the best that you didn’t. You can remember your Father-Dog t
he way you knew him—as a strong and fine and brave dog. He’d only just challenged that Alpha for the Pack leadership, remember.”
“Yes.” Thorn was quiet for long moments. At last she said, “And when you found him?”
Storm gave a long sigh, closing her eyes briefly. “He was so changed. What the longpaws had done to him . . . I still hate them for it.”
“So do I,” murmured Thorn. “So do I. But please go on, Storm. Tell me everything.”
Storm grunted awkwardly. This is the most difficult part. I don’t know if I can bring myself to say a lot of it.
“The longpaws had him in a Trap House,” she began, and she heard the growl in her own voice. “Well—not a Trap House like the one Alpha talked about earlier. It was more like an enormous loudcage, but the back of it was full of wire traps. And it’s just like Alpha described; they were so small. No room to run or jump.” Storm shuddered. “And your Father-Dog—he wasn’t the only one. They had all kinds of animals in there. Foxes, coyotes, birds. There was a sharpclaw, I remember. Even a deer, crammed into such a tiny space. I never thought I’d feel so sorry for prey animals—or for a coyote.”
Thorn’s voice was very small. “What did they do to them?”
“I don’t really know, but . . . they gave them bad water, I know that much. It was the longpaws who made your Father-Dog sick. Even after being trapped and stuck behind that wire, he would have stayed strong. But the longpaws poisoned him.” Storm’s muzzle curled back in a helpless snarl. “They poisoned all those creatures.”
“I know,” said Thorn. “I’ve never understood why they’d do that. If they wanted my Father-Dog dead, why didn’t they just ki . . . kill him?”
“I never understood why they didn’t do that, either.” Just the memory of it was bringing all of Storm’s fury back. “All of us—Lucky, Bella, Martha, and Twitch, and your Mother-Dog—we got all the traps open. We couldn’t leave any creature in that place; it was horrible. A lot of them ran free, but some were too sick to get away. Your Father-Dog was one.” Storm swallowed hard. “We managed to get him out of that place, but he was hurt badly.”