by Erin Hunter
She had gone a few rabbit-chases when, sure enough, a bird landed on a rock sticking out in the middle of the stream. It was really big, even fatter than the cliff-bird, with black feathers that glistened as a few drops of rain began to fall.
More rain, Storm sighed. She would have found somewhere to shelter—but the bird was paying her no attention, searching in the mud of the river bottom, probably looking for worms.
Storm crept closer, ignoring the rain, keeping her head low to the ground, moving as slowly as she dared. She was glad she was downwind, even though birds didn’t seem to scent things the way dogs did.
The drops of rain were growing heavier and closer together, splashing in the mud at her paws and beating across her back. She blinked water out of her eyes, focused only on her prey. The rain was good—it would muffle the sound of her approach, as well as her scent. The mud was growing stickier and slipperier, but she kept her footing, even though she knew she would have to spend a long time later getting the earth out from between her toes.
The bird was hunched now, its feathers ruffled up around its neck, as if it was making the same decision as Storm—shelter, or food? Storm was a few pawsteps from being close enough to pounce when its neck suddenly rose and its beak twisted around, sending raindrops spinning off into the air. But it wasn’t looking at Storm—it was looking farther upstream, toward something Storm couldn’t see. It took flight with another arcing spray of water and vanished into the trees.
“Sky-Dogs!” Storm growled. “Can’t I have one piece of good—”
She broke off. Something was happening. The mud around her paws was washing away. The stream had grown wider and deeper, surrounding Storm and covering most of the muddy basin. Even as she stood still, the water buffeted at the ground underneath her, and she struggled to keep her balance. Then there was a wet crashing sound, and up ahead, a wall of water sloshed around the corner of a rock, right toward Storm.
River-Dog! Help me! Storm thought, trying to turn and scramble for the bank, but the stream underpaw was a river now, and she splashed and slipped as she turned. The wave hit her while she was off-balance, knocking her off her paws. She rolled over and spun around, trying to reach for something solid to hold on to, but there was nothing but mud and water. The river closed over her head. Freezing panic seized her throat, and she paddled as hard as she could against the River-Dog’s current, breaking the surface just long enough to feel the air and rain on her muzzle before she was pushed under again.
This was worse than splashing in the Endless Lake, with its constant push and pull, and much worse than the steady river she knew—the River-Dog was running as if she was being chased by something!
Storm kicked out and broke through the surface again, just in time for another wave to crash over her, blinding her for a moment. There were no scents except for mud and panic.
You’re a big, strong Fierce Dog, she thought. It’s just water!
But the water was so big, and Storm felt very small, as if she was still a pup and she would be swept away if Martha didn’t come to her rescue any moment.
In fact, through the splashing waves and the pounding rain, she thought could almost see the enormous water-dog, her giant black paws striking the surface as she swam with the current toward Storm.
She was so swift and graceful in the water. . . .
Storm couldn’t breathe without sucking in water, and the cold was making her legs ache as she scrambled for a hold on the mud, but she thought she saw Martha moving toward her, and a small voice in her mind said, It’ll be all right, Martha will save us. Her panic subsided.
But then the shape reached Storm and passed.
Martha, wait! Storm twisted to follow the dark dog-shape. Martha was leaving her behind! Storm tossed her head back and tried to copy Martha’s swimming movements, just as she and Grunt and Wiggle had done as pups, just as she’d taught Lucky and Sweet’s pups to do.
As she swam, the dark shape became less like a dog and more like a wave. It rolled and vanished into the water. Storm swam on, exhausted and grateful to Martha—or had it been the River-Dog?
Perhaps it was both. Between them, they had sent her a memory.
Sometimes, the worst thing you can do is fight the current, Martha had said. A dog can never win that fight.
And sure enough, it was easier to stay above the water now that she was facing the same direction as the wave and not trying to fight it. She could even push herself off small rocks and move, bit by bit, over toward the bank.
Finally, the mud beneath her was solid enough for her to dig in her claws, and she half-dragged herself and half-ran out of the water and up onto solid, sticky ground. She stumbled and crawled along the bank until she was away from the river, on ground that was thick with grass and thin, creaking saplings.
She flopped down, her flanks heaving.
Martha, thank you.
The breath rasped in Storm’s throat and the rain beat down on her, but she didn’t mind. It was washing some of the mud from her fur, and when she caught a little on her tongue, it tasted fresh and clean.
Just stop fighting. Turn and ride the current, she thought. Oh, Martha. Perhaps if I’d listened to you, I would have left the Wild Pack long ago. . . .
Fighting her Packmates’ fears had been like trying to swim upstream into a rushing tide. It was a fight that Storm was never going to win. The knowledge was uncomfortable, like lying here in the grass in the rain, but if she hadn’t made that decision, their terror would have drowned her.
CHAPTER TWO
Storm paused in the shade of a pine tree to shake out her fur yet again. Drops spattered the tree trunks and splashed in the undergrowth. She should be dry by now, but it seemed as if between the rain and the river she had been soaked all the way down to her bones.
She wasn’t quite sure where she was. She was in new territory, of course, but before the river she had at least had an idea in her head of how far she was from the Pack and from the Endless Lake, and which direction she was heading in. She wished she could catch another glimpse of that hill in the clouds, so she would know which way she was facing—but the trees were too thick, and the forest floor sloped steeply up and down all the time. Even the Sun-Dog was no help, hiding behind the clouds and casting a vague, pale light that didn’t throw proper shadows.
Why does it matter? she wondered. Do you think you’ll need to find your way back one day? Why try to keep track—wherever you are, there’s your Pack, right?
Storm growled at herself. There was no point feeling sad about being lost, even if her paws were constantly sticky with mud, even if her fur was wet and hanging loose and she was so hungry. . . .
It didn’t matter where she was, because she had no home, and no dog would care enough to find her.
That was a very dark thought, and Storm tried to shake it off and keep her tail high as she moved through the forest, sniffing the ground and the trees for signs of prey.
She caught a familiar scent she couldn’t quite place—was it a dog, or prey, or neither? She decided to follow it, glad to have an aim for now, even if it didn’t lead her directly to her next meal.
As she walked, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the Wild Pack.
Their first Alpha had never liked Storm. The half wolf, half dog had refused to let her have her Naming Ceremony, or to call her by her name when she chose it. When Storm thought about how she’d had to fight to be who she was—Storm, and not Savage—her fur prickled and a growl rumbled in her throat.
Then she hushed. Her nose twitched.
There was prey nearby! It was a rabbit, and it had passed this way very recently, after the rainfall. It smelled delicious. Storm could feel her mouth watering and opened her jaws to taste the air, working out which way the rabbit had passed. She followed carefully, determined not to lose her prey this time.
But the old Alpha’s face kept swimming to the front of her thoughts, even though she knew she should be focusing on the hunt.
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Of course, the old Alpha hadn’t remained Alpha. He had allied himself with the Fierce Dogs in the end. Storm couldn’t understand it. He had hated them so much, he had driven Grunt to leave the Wild Pack and become Fang, a true Fierce Dog. And yet, the Alpha had joined them too. He’d been their Omega.
She remembered his cruel yellow eyes, the way he used to stare at the Fierce pups as if they had personally offended him. The other dogs in the Wild Pack were afraid of Fierce Dogs after their encounters at the Dog-Garden, but she’d always had the sense that the half wolf’s dislike ran deeper than that, somehow.
What did Fierce Dogs ever do to you? she wondered. And why can’t I clear you out of my mind now?
A few cautious pawsteps later, Storm peered around a tall pine tree and saw that she’d come to a small clearing. The ground was grassier and uneven with dug earth, and right there, nibbling on a dandelion leaf, was the rabbit. It looked a bit skinny, but it would be enough to give Storm some of her strength back. And she wouldn’t have to share it with any other dog, either.
But rabbits were fast. Storm tried to ignore the drool that dripped from her teeth as she sniffed at the creature’s scent. She had to be careful and smart about this, or her prey would definitely get away—some rabbits could run so fast they even outpaced Sweet, and she was a swift-dog.
Storm stepped quietly, thankful now for the mud on her paws and on the ground that muffled her movements, until she was behind a large boulder, keeping the rabbit firmly upwind. She wished she could make a leap for it—all this sneaking around was more like sharpclaw behavior, not how a dog should hunt. But if she did, there’d be no dog to flank the rabbit and take it down. Storm could eat, or not, and it was all up to her.
The rabbit turned to pick another dandelion leaf, hopping so that its back was turned on Storm.
She wasn’t going to get a better chance. Trying not to so much as breathe, she crept out from behind the boulder and picked her way, paw by paw, across the clearing.
Then suddenly, a puff of air crossed the back of Storm’s head, stirring the drying fur behind her ears. The wind was changing direction.
Now it was Storm who was upwind of the rabbit, and her scent that was being carried across the clearing.
No! Wind-Dogs, what are you doing?
The rabbit’s ears went up and its nose twitched. Its black eye blinked, and then it was gone in a scramble, kicking up pine needles behind it.
“No!” Storm barked aloud. Her back legs kicked out and she sprang after the rabbit, forcing her tired limbs into a galloping sprint. The pale gray shape skidded around a tree and through a bush, and Storm crashed after it. It was futile, Storm knew deep down. The creature was faster than her, especially in the forest, but she was desperate. She had to try.
Bounding over branches and under bushes, Storm kept the rabbit in sight, a gray blur of panic, until she reached the edge of the trees. If she was lucky, the rabbit would try to go to ground and she could dig it out—
But as they burst from the trees onto a scrubby slope, the wind kicked up once again and threw a flurry of leaves and pine needles across Storm’s vision. She squeezed her eyes closed to protect them, and her paws came down unevenly on the side of the hill. She stumbled and skidded, digging in her claws to stop herself from tumbling down the slope.
I’ve lost it, she thought, her eyes still closed, shaking her head frantically to try and clear the leaves and dust that had been blown into her face.
But then she heard a sound—a thumping of large paws, a growl, and a wet snap.
Something else was on the slope with her. Something like a dog—but not a dog.
She opened her eyes gingerly and looked across the brush.
It was a wolf.
The creature was larger than Storm, with thick gray fur and yellow eyes. It had the rabbit’s body hanging limply in its jaws. As she watched, the wolf met her eyes and dropped the prey between its big paws.
That’s the scent I picked up earlier, Storm thought, her heart in her mouth. That’s why I was thinking about our old Alpha!
Oh, Sky-Dogs—am I on wolf territory?
CHAPTER THREE
Storm turned on the spot to face the wolf, trying to keep her footing on the steep slope, sending more pine needles skidding away down the hill. She tensed, ready to spring if she had to.
I need that meal more than you do. I may be weak, but I’m desperate, and I’ll show you how a desperate Fierce Dog can fight. . . .
The wolf sniffed the air as if trying to get the measure of Storm. She shuddered as she gazed into his yellow eyes, so like the Wild Pack’s former Alpha.
The half-wolf was the first dog in the Pack that wouldn’t accept us Fierce pups. If he had been kind, would the others have followed his example?
But this wasn’t Alpha. The wolf didn’t pick up the rabbit and run off, or growl and crouch to spring in an attack. He tilted his head and watched Storm with interest, but no fear.
“Good teamwork, dog,” he said.
Storm was stunned into silence for a long moment. “I was hunting alone,” she growled back at last.
The wolf opened his jaws and panted. “Oh, then should I have let it go? If I hadn’t leaped in when I did, this rabbit would be halfway to the Great Water by now.”
Great Water? thought Storm. Could that be a wolf’s name for the Endless Lake?
“In fact,” the wolf continued, “it was moving so fast when I caught it, I think I might have loosened a tooth.”
He stepped over the prey and advanced toward Storm. Storm had to dig her claws into the soft ground to stop herself from backing off.
He opened his jaws and ran his large red tongue over his fangs experimentally.
“What do you think? Anything knocked loose?”
“What?” Storm snarled. “No, they look fine.”
“Well, that’s good. Wily once knocked out one of his teeth, and he didn’t stop complaining about the pain for many moons.”
The wolf turned away. Storm watched him carefully. Was all this some sort of trick? He was behaving as if he trusted her, a strange dog whose prey he had . . . well, perhaps not stolen, but certainly got. Was he expecting her to leap for the rabbit while his back was turned? Or try to attack him? If she wanted to get it away from him, she was going to need to be sneaky. She wasn’t ready for a fight. . . .
But then the wolf nudged the rabbit with his nose and turned back to Storm.
“Shall we share, since we caught the prey together?”
Really? Storm thought. The wolf was waiting for her to respond, his teeth close to the prey but not tearing into it yet. She sniffed the air, but apart from the strong scent of pine and this wolf, she couldn’t smell much else.
Cautiously, she padded over to the wolf. He pressed one paw against the rabbit and tore loose a mouthful of flesh, swallowing it down with a happy gulp. Storm leaned in and did the same, relishing the warm, fresh meat. She hadn’t had a proper meal in days and hadn’t had rabbit since she left the Wild Pack. It took only a few delicious mouthfuls for her to start to feel stronger again.
It was strange, sharing prey like this—one mouthful at a time, instead of taking her turn at the prey pile and eating until she’d had her fill. Was this how wolves always ate? Wouldn’t this wolf be in trouble for eating before his Pack?
She was starting to realize that all she knew about wolves was connected to the Wild Pack’s old Alpha—and this wolf was nothing like him.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, through a mouthful of rabbit.
“Thoughtful,” said the wolf. Storm looked at him, tilting her head to one side.
“That’s a strange name.”
“Not for a wolf,” said Thoughtful blandly. “Several of my ancestors have had the same name. What should I call you?”
“Storm,” said Storm. Thoughtful huffed through his teeth.
“Now that is a strange name! Why did your Pack call you that?”
Storm frowned, but he
r ears twitched with amusement. “I chose it myself. That’s what dogs do, when they’re old enough to lose their pup name. Do wolf Packs choose names for each other?”
“Of course. We are named for our natures, and who knows you better than your Pack? Why did you pick the name Storm?”
Storm had just taken a big mouthful of rabbit, and she chewed it slowly, pretending that she couldn’t speak because she was too busy eating.
Why did I? It felt right. Lucky talked so much about the Storm of Dogs . . . perhaps it was my destiny, to kill Blade and stop her prophecy coming true?
Or perhaps it was something else. My presence in the Pack has always been stormy. Is Storm a name that fits me like Thoughtful fits this wolf? Would the Wild Pack say so?
Am I a storm that blew through the Pack and almost destroyed it?
“You aren’t used to being so hungry,” Thoughtful said, snapping Storm out of her thoughts, and she looked up guiltily. She’d been eating the rabbit, lost in thought—she knew she’d had several mouthfuls more than her fair share. Thoughtful sat back on his haunches and licked his lips, as if he had already eaten his fill. Storm was too hungry to be polite—if he didn’t want the rabbit, she did.
“I’m not,” she said through another mouthful, answering the question Thoughtful hadn’t quite asked. “I don’t like it much either.”
“I thought not. You have the frame of a dog who’s used to being well fed. You grew up in a good Pack.” His ears sagged back against his head in genuine sadness, and he said quietly, “Did something terrible happen?”
Yes. Several terrible things. But I don’t think that’s what you mean.
“The Pack is fine. I left them. I’m a Lone Dog now. And I don’t really want to talk about it,” she added, trying to head off the questions she could see forming behind Thoughtful’s eyes. He nodded, but she could tell he was still turning the idea over in his mind. He really had been named well—he couldn’t seem to stop thinking.