by Erin Hunter
“Are dogs very casual creatures?” he asked eventually. “I can’t imagine any wolf leaving their Pack just like that. Do dog Packs break up often?” He gave an amused snort. “I suppose there are no dogs called Faithful or Loyal. . . .”
Storm’s fur bristled.
“We don’t wear our traits as names, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have them,” she snapped. “You’d know that if you met the Pack. There are plenty of faithful and loyal dogs. It’s a lot more complicated than that.”
“Are you looking for a Pack? For other dogs?”
“No.” To Storm’s own surprise, that answer came easily. She raised her head and tried to look as firm as she could. That was the decision she had made, the one that made sense for all dogs.
If only it didn’t sting so much.
She forced herself to keep her head high.
Thoughtful gazed back and nodded. “It seems a shame for you to be a—what did you call it? A Lone Dog? If you were stronger, you’d be an asset to any Pack. And you didn’t attack me, even though you thought I’d stolen your prey,” he added, with a glint of humor in his yellow eyes. He paused, as if he was expecting Storm to reply. But Storm didn’t quite know what to say.
Thank you? I’m glad you think I’m a good dog? Or do you want me to tell you all about why I left? Thoughtful was going to be disappointed if that was true—Storm wasn’t sure she could explain everything that had happened with the traitor, the Fear-Dog, the pups, Whisper’s and Bruno’s deaths, the foxes, the longpaws. . . .
Thoughtful lay down on his side and rolled in the pine needles.
“It’s good if you’ve got an itch,” he explained, when he saw Storm tilting her head at him in puzzlement. “And it helps with hunting around here if you smell like the forest. You still smell like you’ve come from far away, near the Great Water. It’ll be easier to catch prey if you have the right scent.”
Storm hesitated, but what did she have to lose? She lay down and rolled over a few times in the crunchy, fragrant needles. Thoughtful was right; it did feel good on her back.
“What about your Pack? Will you get in trouble, if they find out you shared this prey with me?” Storm asked. The wolf could answer one of her questions, for a change. “We used to get away with eating on a hunt, if we were very hungry, but Alpha would be cross if we didn’t bring anything back.”
“It’s the same with wolves,” Thoughtful said, still upside down with his belly exposed to the sky, as if he didn’t have a worry in the world. “The Pack won’t be impressed if I come back with rabbit between my teeth and none for the prey store.”
“Don’t you hunt together?” Storm said, lying down and holding the remains of the rabbit between her paws, determined to get every bite out of the prey that she could.
“Sometimes,” Thoughtful said. “But I don’t like to hunt in a Pack. Too noisy, too rowdy. A Pack of wolves can bring down any prey they like,” he added, with a note of pride in his voice, “but I prefer to hunt alone. Gives me time to think.”
“Of course it does,” Storm muttered into the bones of the rabbit. “So why did you share the prey with me? You didn’t have to.”
Thoughtful turned his yellow eyes on her and rolled to his feet, shaking out his shaggy gray fur and showering pine needles on the ground.
“You looked hungry,” he said simply.
How many dogs would do the same? Storm wondered. Especially for a not-dog? Would I have done it for him?
“Do dog Packs have a lot of rules?” Thoughtful asked, scratching behind his ear.
“Lots,” said Storm emphatically. “But they can change from one journey of the Sun-Dog to the next. It all depends on what the Pack needs—and how the Alpha wants to run things.”
“What’s a Sun-Dog?” Thoughtful asked, and Storm stared at him.
“What’s the Sun-Dog?” she echoed. She looked up. The Sun-Dog was there, more than halfway through his journey from one horizon to the other, traveling down the sky toward his den. “That is! The Spirit Dog that shines light down from the sky. There!”
She gestured with her nose, and Thoughtful looked up. His ears twitched with amusement.
“That looks like a dog to you? How silly!”
“Well, no,” Storm said. “Spirit Dogs don’t look like dogs—but they still are dogs. And he’s so far away and so bright, how can you know what he really looks like?”
“Spirit Dogs, huh?” Thoughtful stared up at the Sun-Dog for a moment longer and then looked away, blinking. “You have a point. After all, we don’t see the Great Wolf, or the ancestors who go to her caverns when they die, but we know she lives on the moon. I suppose that’s no stranger than thinking the sun is really a dog.”
She lives on the Moon-Dog? Storm thought. The idea twisted her brain in a strange way. Did that mean that the dead wolves and their Great Wolf were like tiny fleas living on the Moon-Dog’s back? Or could the Moon-Dog and the Great Wolf actually be the same thing? After all, the Moon-Dog was silver, like a wolf. . . .
Storm blinked the thoughts aside. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of being watched over by a wolf at night.
“Well, I would like to hear more of your dog stories sometime, but for now I must go.” Thoughtful stretched hugely, pushing his forepaws out in front of him and wagging his tail in the air. “Storm, Lone Dog, thank you for your company and allowing me to share your meal. I wish you luck on your travels. A word of advice, though—if you’re going to linger near here, you should be careful not to stray onto my Pack’s territory. Wolves don’t like other hunters to pass the Dead Tree.”
Storm cocked her head nervously. “I don’t know where that is.”
“You’ll know it if you see it,” said Thoughtful. “It’s a few rabbit-chases from here. It’s very large and very dead. Stay this side of it and you’ll be all right.”
Storm knew that this was a reasonable request—after all, dogs wouldn’t want wolves wandering onto their territory either.
“Not all wolves are as friendly as I am. Especially in large numbers,” Thoughtful said, turning to go. “Be careful, Storm.”
I’m sure they’re not, Storm thought. “I was lucky to run into you,” she said out loud. “Good luck on your hunt, Thoughtful the Wolf. I’ll share prey with you anytime!”
Thoughtful let out a woof of amusement and trotted away, his tail wagging.
After he had gone, Storm stretched out too, finally feeling strong enough to try hunting again. This time she would catch something all by herself. She was a Lone Dog now, and she was going to act like it.
Still, as she looked around, down the steep scrubby slope to another dark patch of forest and up toward the faint gray outline of the land in the clouds, she wished that Thoughtful didn’t have to leave.
There was plenty to explore, in this strange land of kind wolves—but, like her whole future, she was going to have to explore it all alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
The last few journeys of the Sun-Dog had been better for Storm. She had caught more prey, taking Thoughtful’s advice about hiding her scent and learning to move more quietly along the crunchy, crackly forest floor. She was getting stronger, and she felt as dry and warm as she had before she’d fallen in the river.
But there was still a feeling in her belly, almost as uncomfortable as the pangs of hunger. It felt as if she had gotten tangled in a thick vine and it was tugging at her.
It wanted her to turn back.
Though she hadn’t strayed too far from where she’d met the wolf, she was still farther than ever from the Wild Pack camp. And in six—or was it seven?—Sun-Dog journeys, she hadn’t spoken to another creature apart from Thoughtful.
And now, an instinct she didn’t even know she had was pulling at her, whispering in her ears: It’s not safe to be out here alone. It’s not right to be alone. Turn back, before it’s too late.
But it was already too late. Storm had been trying to ignore the urge for a while now, but the thin voice wouldn�
�t be quiet, and it wouldn’t listen to reason, no matter how many times she told herself that going back was impossible, that she would still be alone even if she was closer to the Wild Pack. Sweet and Lucky wouldn’t let her come back, even if they wanted her to—there were too many dogs who were afraid of her.
She would never see either of them again, nor their pups. Storm tried not to think about Nibble, Tumble, Fluff, and little Tiny. Whenever she did, the dream of the Fear-Dog seemed to rise up like a shadow and cast her mind into darkness. Her ears felt as heavy as rocks, and she walked with her head hanging low.
The bad dog is still there, you know it is. What if you’ve left the pups in danger . . .
“But they wouldn’t take me back,” she growled out loud, startling a small bird that perched halfway up the tree she was passing by. “There’s nothing I can do! Anyway, Lucky and Sweet aren’t stupid, even if they are a bit . . . well, they won’t let anything happen to their pups, and neither will the other good dogs.”
The silence of the forest felt strangely judgmental, as if all the birds and prey animals were thinking, Won’t they? Are you sure?
Storm shook her head.
I need to keep moving forward. She knew if she let herself get sad, or worry too much about the bad dog, she wouldn’t have the energy to hunt. The days before Thoughtful’s intervention had been terrible. She never wanted to feel that hungry and weak again.
I’m a one-dog Pack now. I’ve got to look after myself first.
And that meant knowing everything there was to know about the place she was living—including all about her potential enemies. She stopped and sniffed around a thornbush, and found a clump of gray hair caught on one of the stems.
The wolf Pack’s camp must be nearby.
As she had been making her den the previous night, curling up in the shelter of an overhanging rock, she had smelled them. Not just Thoughtful, but at least four different wolf scents, being carried on the wind from somewhere not too far away.
She had decided then that as soon as the Sun-Dog woke her up, she would go out and scout their camp.
I know Thoughtful warned me, but . . . I need to know just where this Dead Tree is, at least. She thought, I don’t know if a wolf’s “rabbit-chase” is the same distance as ours! And yes, perhaps she was lonely. The idea of spending more time with the wolves, even just watching from a distance, stopped her from feeling pulled back toward the Wild Pack. It was like finding just the right tree trunk to scratch an itch you couldn’t reach.
In any case, she was curious too. She wanted to see how wolves organized their Packs, and how they dealt with one another. Would it be very different from the dogs she’d known?
Thoughtful had been right: she did know the Dead Tree when she saw it. It was tall, almost as tall as the healthy trees around it, but its surface was black and flaking away, and the ground all around it smelled strongly of ash.
Beyond it, there was another rocky slope. Storm was growing used to the way the land here rose and fell in peaks and valleys, as if some enormous dog had clawed deep furrows out of the ground. But this one was different. As Storm crept past the Dead Tree, she saw that the sides of the valley were vertical, flat, gray, and regular-looking. It was strange—the last time she had seen edges like that on stone, it had been in the longpaw place where they were putting up their new dens. But if longpaws had ever been here, they definitely weren’t now—lush green grasses and bushes sprang up between the strange straight cracks in the valley walls, and at the bottom there was a small lake. A well-trodden path wound down between the steep drops toward the edge of the lake, and beside the water there was a group of gray wolves, lying in the sun. Their camp must be down there, among the greenery, near the water.
Well, Storm thought, I may be a little past the tree, but unless those wolves have wings, I am certainly not within three or even four rabbit-chases.
Satisfied with her logic, she lay down on a flat block of stone to watch the camp.
There were several paths down into the valley, one directly opposite her and one somewhere to her right. She spotted a group of wolves emerging from the undergrowth on the other side of the valley and lay as still as she could, knowing she was exposed, but if she didn’t move, they probably wouldn’t see her.
Luckily for her, the wolves were occupied—they were dragging prey with them, taking it in turns to clamp their strong jaws around the antlers or spindly legs of something as big as two of them put together. It flashed lightly gold in the bright sunlight.
Storm’s heart gave a little jolt. A deer! It was enormous. What would happen if some wolf took down the Golden Deer? Would they even know about the blessing of the Wind-Dogs? Sweet had said that the Golden Deer would bring good fortune to any Pack that caught it. Storm and Lucky had been determined to bring it back for their pups, and for the Wild Pack. But when she’d seen it in the distance, on her long walk out of the Wild Pack’s territory, Storm had decided to let it go.
Is it my fault if the wolf Pack caught it instead?
But she realized quickly that the creature was just a very large ordinary stag, paler in color than the bright creature she’d caught glimpses of.
They dragged, pushed, and even head-butted the creature down the slope to their camp, the sound of their barks and growls reaching Storm even though she couldn’t make out the words. They worked together as a team, each taking their turn to pull, and using their break time to sit back and watch and warn the others if there was a big rock or a drop ahead.
Storm sighed. She missed being part of a hunting party. When it was going well, it was wonderful, working so closely with other dogs who all had the same aim.
This deer would easily have fed the Wild Pack for two whole journeys of the Sun-Dog. Did the wolf Pack always eat this well, or would these wolves be greeted like heroes?
Looking around, Storm decided that if there were patrol wolves, then they were obviously elsewhere right now. It couldn’t hurt just to creep a little bit closer—there was a spot farther down the path that overlooked the camp and was furnished with green shrubs that would do perfectly to hide Storm while she watched the wolves.
I’ll be gone before they have any idea I was here, she thought, placing her paws carefully on the loose stones of the path and creeping closer.
The hunters reached the camp while Storm was moving into her new position. When she was settled and she looked down again, the wolves had gathered by the side of the lake. They formed a wide circle. Storm counted thirteen wolves. Thoughtful was there, speaking with a female wolf who sat beside him, but Storm couldn’t hear what he was saying.
One very large wolf stepped forward, raised her muzzle, and howled. It was a sound that thrilled and frightened Storm all at once. This had to be the Alpha. Storm could just about make out a large bald patch on her front leg, probably a scar from some wolf battle. Part of Storm longed to hear the story of it, but the more sensible parts of her were glad that she would probably never get close enough to do that.
“Great Wolf,” the Alpha howled. “We thank you for the good hunting, and we thank the hunters who have brought us this feast.”
One by one, the wolves all howled more quietly, echoing the words of their Alpha—“Great Wolf, we thank you!”
Then all the wolves advanced on the deer. All of them at once! Storm stared, trying to make out Thoughtful in the crowd of gray fur and wagging tails that surrounded the deer carcass. They didn’t wait their turn—they shared, just like Thoughtful had done, all of them together. Even the Alpha had to tear off strips of prey alongside her wolves. But Storm supposed that when there was always plenty to go around, it wasn’t so important to make sure the leaders and hunters ate first.
There was only one wolf who hadn’t joined in on the feeding frenzy. He was thin and his coat was slightly matted. For a moment, Storm wondered if this was their Omega, being forced to wait until the end. But then she saw Thoughtful and the she-wolf he’d been talking to before peel away fr
om the deer, chunks of prey held in their mouths. They brought them to the wolf and laid them at his paws with obvious reverence. When the wolf bent down to pick them up, Storm realized that he was just old—perhaps very old. He trembled when he moved, and the female paused, pushing the meat in front of his nose, as if she wanted to make sure he could scent where his meal was after the first bite. Was he blind? Or just very frail? Storm almost felt she could hear his bones creaking.
It all felt very strange to her, the Alpha eating with everybody else, and only one elderly wolf keeping himself separate. But then, what would wolves think of the dog way of doing things, with a Pack’s strict rules about eating in turn?
Storm’s stomach growled. All of this thinking about food was making her hungry, and there was a tasty scent somewhere nearby. It was probably squirrel—there were lots of the little fast creatures around here, probably quite safe from the wolves, who clearly focused on much bigger prey.
But not me, she thought, turning and stalking toward the trees, sniffing carefully. I’m a Lone Dog, and I’ll eat you up. . . .
Sure enough, about a dog-length up the trunk of a tree, a gray and fuzzy shape hung upside down with its claws. Storm crouched behind another tree, watching, uncertain whether it was going up or coming down. She would have liked to be able to walk up trees as easily as she could run across the ground.
She was in luck. The squirrel ran down the tree and paused, digging at the ground, upwind of where Storm was crouched. She sprang, meeting her prey jaws-first. That was one thing she had learned from hunting alone—when you had only one chance to catch your dinner, you had to make each bite count.
She was about to devour the prey where she sat, but then she looked behind her. She could still hear the odd growl or bark from the wolves’ camp, and she was still on the valley side of the Dead Tree. Technically, this squirrel had been hunted on their territory, and if they found its bones chewed up there, they would probably have some questions. So she picked up the limp carcass in her jaws and trotted away to the place she had made her den, where she could finish her meal without being interrupted.