by Erin Hunter
Not long ago she wouldn’t have believed it, but now—who knew? As the tensions within the Pack had grown in the last few days, Storm reckoned, so had the likelihood of mischief. Arrow had sounded so disconsolate about Ripper’s death; had it affected him so much that he had decided to betray the Pack—the dogs who had never tried to understand his Fierce Dog nature? He could be bluffing about his detachment from Blade’s old Pack. Some of them might still be in the forest, biding their time.
I have to find out. I can’t just go back to the camp, and wonder. I have enough trouble sleeping as it is!
Beneath her paws was the soft mulch of rotting leaves, the damp detritus of a whole long Ice Wind. Making her decision, Storm lay down and rolled thoroughly, coating her head and flanks and rump in the odors of the forest floor. When she clambered back to her paws, she rubbed herself briskly against a pine trunk until the sweet, resiny scent clung to her fur.
Taking a deep breath, she crept toward the murmuring voices. Surely she’d masked her own scent well enough by now to fool even Arrow’s keen nostrils?
He joked about me wasting all my energy, walking in my sleep. Grimly, Storm clenched her jaws. If I catch him plotting with our enemies, he’ll find out just how much energy I have left!
On she crept, placing her paws with care, avoiding every twig and dry leaf. She slunk between the trees and through the underbrush like a weasel, sinuous and silent. Arrow’s voice was clearer now; she could make out every word he growled. And she recognized that other, female voice now.
Storm froze on the edge of a branch-littered dip in the ground. A massive sycamore trunk rose up in front of her, so ancient that some of its thick and twisted roots snaked up out of the ground. Between those roots, the two dogs were nestled together, heads on each other’s flanks. One coat was black and sleek and shining; the other rough, shaggy, and golden.
Bella!
Storm’s jaw sagged open. Lucky’s litter-sister was the Fierce Dog’s secret mate?
I should have known, she realized. I saw them out in the woods together, when they had no reason to be!
Then it struck her like Lightning’s paw: That’s what Bella was talking about. How Fierce Dogs had to show they could be trusted, how I shouldn’t give the Pack any reason to be hostile to them.
She wasn’t worried about me at all. She was concerned for Arrow!
A ripple of discomfort ran through Storm’s fur as she watched Arrow lick Bella’s ear. The golden dog gave a lazy, contented sigh. Arrow’s tongue moved to wash more parts of Bella’s face: her eyes, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. His touch looked so gentle and so affectionate . . . and it embarrassed Storm to her core. She wanted to turn away.
And yet she couldn’t, because she was fascinated as well as disturbed. How can they lie so close to each other? Aren’t they hot? Isn’t it uncomfortable? Her hipbone’s sticking right in his ribs and, ew! How can she enjoy him licking her eyelids like that?
Storm shuddered. The worst of it was, they were completely wrapped up in each other. Why, she might have been an enemy stalking them, but they hadn’t even noticed her! And they weren’t so much as glancing around for prey! How was this supposed to help the Pack?
What an unbelievable waste of time, she thought with an inward nibble of disgust.
“Aren’t you worried about all this?”
For a horrible instant, Storm thought Arrow had seen her, and she made to pull back into the scrub. Then she realized, with a roll of her eyes, that of course he hadn’t. He was still stupidly unaware of his surroundings. The Not-So-Fierce Dog was talking to Bella.
“What if Alpha finds out?” he murmured to the golden-furred dog. “Or maybe worse, what if Beta does?”
“I’m not worried,” growled Bella softly. “Lucky will understand. He adapts to any situation, my litter-brother, and he always thinks the best of any dog. I’m more worried about you, Arrow.”
“Me? You don’t need to worry about me.” There was amusement in his tone.
“But the way the other dogs treat you—I know it’s getting to you. I don’t want you to be unhappy. I hate it when they turn their rumps on you.”
“Honestly, Bella, I’m not that bothered.” He nuzzled her fondly. “Maybe I should worry more, but who cares about them? I don’t care what they think or what they say. Not when I’m this happy.”
Backing away as quietly as she could, Storm turned and crept back in the direction of the camp.
I’m glad I’m about to go on a hunting patrol, she thought disgustedly. I need to think about something, to take my mind off that soggy, pup-faced pair . . .
Better that than the alternative, though. Arrow wasn’t a traitor, and neither was his companion. I’m glad he’s not. I don’t think I could have borne it.
Even a sickly load of romantic rabbit fluff was better than that scenario.
Storm shook herself as she trotted toward the glade, and gave a sniff of disdain—but as she did so, her eyes widened and she inhaled harder. Flaring her nostrils, lifting her muzzle, she searched the air for a further trace of the scent that had snagged on them.
Through the trees she could make out Pack members going about their business: Sunshine gathering extra moss for Alpha’s bedding; Snap summoning her hunters; Mickey chatting quietly with Twitch. Clearly they’d noticed nothing unusual, but Storm was sure she’d smelled something wrong. Holding herself still, she moved her head, seeking the elusive tang once more . . . sharp, smoky, and a little sour . . . Foxes!
Storm’s whole body tensed, her muscles bunching. She’d never seen a fox up close, and for good reason—they didn’t dare to come close to the Pack’s camp. The dogs outnumbered every fox pack in the forest, and they were so much stronger. So if foxes really had approached the glade, they must be doing it deliberately.
And they must have a plan.
For long heartbeats, Storm hesitated, her blood pounding through her as she glanced back to the place where she’d seen Arrow and Bella. Perhaps she should double back and fetch them? They were two of the strongest, best fighters in the Pack.
But if Storm did that, Arrow and Bella would realize she’d seen them. And it had been pretty clear that they didn’t want any other dog to know they liked to cuddle up between the roots of trees.
Anyway, Storm told herself, the fox-scent might be old. There was no point in making a fuss and causing havoc if the foxes had been gone for six journeys of the Sun-Dog. Before she raised the alarm, she’d better check it out for herself.
Licking her chops, she made her decision. Storm turned on her haunches and padded swiftly back into the forest, her nostrils seeking out the clinging trail of fox-odor on twigs and leaves and undergrowth. The farther she stalked, the stronger the smell became, until Storm began to feel a nervous pulsing in her neck. What if she blundered right into the foxes? She was sure she could take them on and beat them, but she would risk injury from sneaky bites and filthy, tearing claws. And that would stop her from hunting for a few journeys of the Sun-Dog.
Storm clenched her fangs and drew back her upper lip. It was tempting to charge on. The rankness of fox was so powerful now, it gave her an almost sick feeling in her belly.
Except that there’s a new smell. Storm jerked her head up, startled.
Her nostrils flared, and she let her tongue taste the air. I’m right. That’s not a normal fox-smell. . . . It was sharp, and rich, and it tasted like metal inside her soft mouth—
Blood!
Storm bounded forward as dread bit at her guts. The blood-stench filled her whole head now, so strong it seemed to pulse behind her eyes. Horrified, she skidded to a halt in a disturbed patch of mud and leaves.
Tattered branches half-covered the ground, but what lay beneath them was still visible. A scrap of reddish-gray fur; the darker, wetter red of blood. Tense with nerves, Storm stepped forward on trembling paws, and sniffed. She pulled back the scrubby undergrowth with her claws, and what she saw made her jump back.
A fox-
pup lay sprawled in the dirt. Its tiny teeth were bared permanently in a terrified snarl. Its eyes were wide open, but dull, and flies crawled at their corners. The blood that matted its belly fur was darkening, drying to black at the edges of . . .
Bites.
Storm stared at the little corpse, her heart wrenching inside her with horror. She wasn’t fond of foxes, but this one was so small, it could never have posed a threat. Not, at least, to a dog as big as the one that had killed it. Because Storm had seen enough wounds to know for sure that this had been done by a dog.
But why? She licked her chops and shook her head. Dogs did not prey on foxes! Even adult foxes, however pesky and verminous, could be scared away with threats and very little violence. A dog might kill a fox in a battle, like the one back at their old territory that Lucky had told her about, but this was just a pup—and a small one at that.
This pup can’t have challenged a dog to a fight. It’s not possible!
Which meant just one thing, Storm realized as her stomach churned and her head swam.
This pup’s been murdered. By a dog.
The taste in her mouth was horrible now, and Storm found herself drooling to get rid of it. Not that it will work, she thought as she backed away, her heart beating hard with a mixture of revulsion and pity. She doubted she’d ever get the sight and smell of the fox pup out of her head.
For a fleeting instant, Storm felt a shuddering wave of relief as the breeze rose and the wind changed, bringing fresh untainted air to her nostrils. But she froze again at once. The air was not fresh at all; or only in comparison to the death-smell of the pup. The rising breeze brought back the reek of foxes. Living foxes . . . angry foxes . . . and they’re coming this way, fast.
They were heading straight toward the Pack.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Storm’s breath rasped in her throat as she raced through the woods, leaping fallen branches, dodging looming trunks. She couldn’t hear the foxes in pursuit, but then she could hear nothing but the thud and crash of her paws and the pounding of blood in her ears.
As she burst into the clearing and slithered to a halt, she could hear their voices clearly behind her, yelping and shrieking in their high-pitched, nasal barks.
“Killer-dogs, fiend-dogs!”
“Slay helpless cubs, they do. Savages!”
“Evil dogs will pay, yes. Pay! Pay!”
“Suffer! Then pay!”
The Pack must have heard the racket of fox yelps already, because they were clustered in the clearing, ears and tails high, eyes full of alarm. Chase yelped a warning; Woody stiffened into his stalk-and-pounce position. Sunshine, interrupted midway through renewing the Pack’s bedding, whined nervously through a mouthful of moss and leaves. Thorn and Beetle squeezed and scrabbled out from their den’s narrow entrance, fangs bared.
“What’s happening, Storm?” snarled Chase.
“Foxes!” Storm barked urgently. Their Alpha was too heavy with pups to fight, and she must be protected. But their Beta—“Where’s Lucky? Lucky!”
Every dog turned to their golden-furred Beta as he emerged from the den he shared with Alpha. His ears were pricked with shock, his bushy tail stiff and trembling, and his lips were pulled back from his teeth, but he didn’t advance. He stood foursquare in front of his den, and he showed no sign of moving. He didn’t even bark an order, just stared around the Pack as if he expected them to organize themselves.
Fear and frustration almost choked Storm. This was just like when the loudbirds had come. Lucky was watching over no one but Alpha. What is he doing? He’s in command of these dogs while Alpha can’t be! His own mate isn’t the only dog he needs to defend!
“Beta!” yelped Storm desperately. “What do you want us to do?”
“I—” Lucky glanced anxiously back at his den, then spun around as the crash of the foxes in the undergrowth came closer.
“Beta.” The resounding growl came from behind him, and every dog started. Alpha was emerging from their den, ponderous with the weight of her belly, but determined. “Don’t just stand there. It’s you who must give the battle orders. The Pack needs you!”
Lucky blinked, and seemed to snap out of his funk at last. “Of course, Alpha.” His face turned grim.
Alpha faced the rest of the Pack. Her eyes looked tired, but they still held a steely glint. “Hold your nerve, and keep your discipline, and we’ll withstand these invaders. But Beta, you must organize the defense!”
“Yes, Alpha.” Lucky leaped forward, barking his commands. “Form a line! Chase, Woody, Snap, Spring: Hold the center. Mickey and Dart, take the sunup end of the ranks. Ruff, Rake, Bruno: reinforce the other end. The rest of you, in between! The most important thing is that you hold the line. Remember!” He turned on his haunches, his eyes finding Storm. “You, Storm—I want you in the very center, between Snap and Woody. You’re the strongest dog we have, and one of our best fighters. As for Arrow—”
Lucky came to a shocked halt, even as the Pack raced into the positions he’d given them, shoving and squeezing themselves into a compact defensive force.
“Storm.” He bounded to her side, shouldering past Woody. “Where’s Arrow?”
Storm glanced fearfully toward the forest, then back at her Beta. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“How can he vanish at the worst moment?” howled Lucky. Then he shook himself violently. “Never mind, we’ll have to manage.” He raised his bark again so that it echoed across the clearing. “Pack! Prepare to fight!”
The slap of paws and the smash and crunch of twigs was on the very edge of the glade now, and an instant later the foxes burst through the undergrowth. There were a dozen of them or more, snarling and yipping, their thin muzzles wrinkled with fury. For a few moments all Storm could make out was their enraged eyes, the yellow flash of bared fangs, and a writhing mass of gray fur as they poured across the camp’s border. Then she felt a cold and eerie calm descend, and she pulled her own muzzle back in a ferocious snarl as the first fox flew at her. Leaping, she crashed into him in midair and they tumbled to the ground in a growling pile of teeth, fur, and claws.
As she bit, scratched, and thrust savagely at its belly with her hind legs, she saw brief flashes of her Packmates battling. Sturdy Bruno dodged with surprising agility, clamped his jaws in the neck fur of a fox, and then smashed it to the ground. Snap took the chance to pounce on it, pinning it with her forepaws, but before she could bite, another fox sprang onto her shoulders, clawing at her head and ears. Mickey barreled into the fray, knocking the second fox off Snap.
Storm finally got a firm grip on her own fox’s scruff, and twisted sharply, flinging it aside. It bounced off a pine trunk with a shrieking yelp. But before she could finish it off, she heard a frantic, furious bark.
“Get off him!”
Thorn was darting and dashing around a snarling ball of fur and teeth. A fox had Beetle’s shoulder clamped between its teeth, and Beetle was squirming and clawing frantically to free himself. Storm saw at once why Thorn was keeping her distance: if she mistimed her attack, she could easily end up wounding her own litter-brother.
And Thorn must remember all too well what happened the last time foxes attacked the Pack—I was told how her smallest litter-brother, Fuzz, was killed. No wonder she’s hesitant!
Abandoning her own dazed fox, Storm raced across the clearing. Thorn looked agonized by indecision; she kept rushing toward the bitter struggle, then backing off, and Storm could hear her terrified whimpers.
“Get off my litter-brother! Please!”
Memories of pain and death could badly affect a dog’s ability to fight—it was only survival instinct, after all. Thorn was rearing back, raising her paws to strike, then dodging back yet again. She’s afraid for her brother—and for herself. And she’s right to be!
Thorn must have heard the story of Bella’s betrayal many times—that awful moment when Lucky’s littermate had turned up with foxes to attack the half wolf’s Pack. And where is Bella n
ow? She and Arrow are two of our best fighters, and Breeze isn’t here either!
It didn’t matter, not right now. What mattered was getting that fox’s teeth out of Beetle’s bleeding shoulder. Storm slowed her pace, eyed the writhing Beetle and the snarling fox, then crouched and flew at them from a low angle. Her jaws clamped satisfyingly on the fox’s haunch, and it shrieked with shock as she snapped her head back and flung it aside.
Storm had no time to enjoy her success. She left Thorn desperately licking the wounded Beetle, and raced to help Chase as she fought off two of the foxes at once. The glade was a chaos of yelps, shrieking howls, and savage barks, and the crash of bodies as they fell or flung themselves into battle. The racket and the thrash of fighting creatures was so overwhelming, it took Storm longer than it should have to realize that reinforcements had arrived, and that the tide of the skirmish was turning.
There were more dogs here, she realized—Arrow had sprung into the clearing, his brutal fangs bared as he drove three foxes efficiently back into the trees; and Bella too, whose former alliance with foxes didn’t seem to dampen her fury now. A white-and-black flash rocketed past Storm’s vision and she realized Moon must have hurtled down from her High Watch when she’d heard the commotion. Moon had a bitter grudge against foxes, since the killing of Fuzz, and she didn’t hold back as she flew at them.
The foxes were backing off now, heads lowered, still snarling; but the dogs of the Pack were exhausted too. Jaws slavering, breath rasping, the two forces faced each other in ragged lines. There were splatters of blood and torn fur all over the suddenly quiet glade.
One of the foxes shook itself, then bared its fangs in a renewed snarl. “Nasty brutish dogs,” it hissed. “Bullies! Savages!”
“A fox calls us savages?” growled Moon through clenched teeth. “That’s funny.”
Another fox, panting hoarsely, snapped, “Dogs think they own the forest, do they?”
“Oh yes,” snarled the leader. “All the prey, yes, all the creatures. Dogs rule, dogs do as they like. Think they kill cubs and nobody dares bite back!”