by Erin Hunter
“We’ve got to do something about this, Twitch. Right now!” Anxious, Lucky nosed Alpha’s shoulder, then snarled loudly. “Another trivial problem for Beta and Third Dog to solve, but let’s leave Alpha out of it.”
Alpha didn’t look as if she even had the energy to argue; her expression was all weariness at yet another squabble in the Pack. Without a word she turned and limped back to her den.
Storm felt a pang of pity for her, but she couldn’t wait for Lucky and Twitch to try to sort this out with yet more talking; bolting forward to stand in front of Arrow, she turned to face down Breeze, blocking the two dogs from each other with her body.
She curled her muzzle warningly. I’m defending Arrow, she thought, but I hope Breeze realizes it’s her I’m protecting. If she gets into a real fight with a Fierce Dog, she won’t stand a chance.
Lucky and Twitch at last managed to nose their way through the crush of dogs. Lucky nipped and snapped at several inquisitive muzzles, then turned ferociously on the instigators of the trouble.
“The Pack’s just eaten, and you’re fighting? I’m disappointed in you all!” His dark eyes flashed. “This is the time for resting. You’ll have to hunt a lot more effectively tomorrow, after tonight’s sorry prey pile!”
“But Beta,” began Dart, “Arrow’s been sneaking around. He’s up to something!”
“Quiet!” Lucky’s bark was so savage, Dart clamped her jaws together abruptly. “Arrow is part of this Pack, or had you forgotten? He’s the one who saved us from Blade’s ambush. I wish some of you would remember that, and appreciate him a little more!”
Dart hung her head and ducked her tail, but her expression was resentful. Storm was surprised to find herself sympathizing. This isn’t really about Arrow, not this time. Every dog is on edge, what with loudbirds and longpaws, and waiting for the foxes to attack again at any moment.
“Every dog, gather round.” Lucky stood with his head high, his expression cold and determined.
“I’ll fetch Alpha . . .” Storm began, turning, but Lucky gave a short, sharp bark to stop her.
“No, Storm. Alpha needs her rest. I’ll report to her later.” He padded around the Pack members, some of whom had the grace to look ashamed of themselves. “I’ve got a suggestion that might help with the tensions around here.”
They watched him expectantly. Mickey and Dart glanced with nervous expectation at each other; Daisy lay down, her head tilted up toward Lucky and her dark eyes full of hope. Clearly, thought Storm, she wasn’t the only one who’d like to see an end to the damaging squabbles.
Twitch nodded. “Go ahead, Beta. I think the whole Pack is open to ideas.”
“I think there needs to be a new role in this Pack. Something between hunt dog and patrol dog; a new rank. I suggest we create a new position: we’ll call it scout dog.”
There was a long silent pause, until Mickey tilted his head. “That sounds . . . interesting.”
“What would a scout dog do?” asked Bella curiously.
“The job will need a small, quick dog,” Lucky explained. “The task would be to accompany the hunting patrols, specifically to keep an eye out for danger. The scout will keep watch for loudbirds, longpaws, and foxes so that the hunting patrol can concentrate on finding food. And he or she will also stop prey from being stolen from under the hunters’ noses,” he finished pointedly. “The Pack will have more food, and we’ll all feel safer. And then maybe this foolish fighting will stop.”
Storm nodded, remembering their crushing disappointment at the loss of the deer. “It does make sense.”
“Sounds good to me,” growled Bruno.
“And me,” added Snap, “but you’ll have to choose these scouts, Beta.”
“Yes. And I suggest Whisper, and Dart, to begin with.” Lucky nodded at them. “You two are fast, and you’ve got good eyes and noses.”
Whisper and Dart exchanged a pleased glance, and their tails thumped the ground.
“And any other dog can volunteer, if you think you’re suited for this work,” Lucky went on, pricking his ears at the assembled dogs.
Breeze took an immediate pace forward. “I’m fast too, Beta. And I’m a hunter already. I think I’d be helpful in a scouting role.”
“Me too.” The high excited bark came from Daisy. “I think I’d be good at this, Beta!”
Lucky nodded, and bent down to lick her shaggy white ear. “I think you would, too. All right, it’s settled. Our new scout dogs will be Whisper, Dart, Breeze, and Daisy.”
Storm sat on her haunches, warmed by a sense of optimism. With new and important roles, some of the more discontented dogs might find themselves much happier, and more fulfilled. Didn’t every dog just want to feel valued by the Pack, and important to it? Now that some hunters and patrollers were scouts, it would also give the others more chance to shine in their own positions.
And the busier dogs are, the less time and energy they have to whine and fight, Storm thought to herself. Lucky’s really a smart leader. . . .
Lucky turned as Alpha padded out of her den again and approached the Pack. The swift-dog nuzzled him. “What’s happened, Beta?”
“With your permission, Alpha, we’re going to establish a new rank of scout dog. Whisper, Dart, Breeze, and Daisy have agreed to do the work. It’s necessary, I think, and it’ll benefit the Pack in other ways.”
Alpha gazed around the dogs, nodding approvingly. “Good idea, Beta. And what does the rest of the Pack think?”
“I like the idea,” barked Mickey.
“It seems positive all around,” agreed Bruno gruffly.
“It’ll help the Pack a great deal, I think.” Woody’s tail thumped.
All the dogs were barking their agreement now, and there seemed to be a surge of enthusiasm among the Pack. Storm’s heart felt lighter by far than it had earlier in the evening. This Pack can be fixed—we really can form a team!
Although the dead fox-pup still hasn’t been explained. . . . The thought struck her, kindling her unease once more. And the foxes are bound to return sometime. . . .
If the foxes launched a sneak attack, no scout dog would be of help. And yes, from now on scouts could protect the prey the dogs gathered when they hunted—but what had happened to today’s missing deer? At least if a scout had been watching, they would know if the longpaws had taken it, or if something else had.
How could it just vanish like that? Storm shook her head violently, trying to clear the fog of confusion inside it. Could there be something out there, something malevolent? Something that’s actually targeting this Pack?
If there was something so sinister going on, it could only have one purpose: to weaken the Pack by sowing division and stealing prey. Is it even possible that this enemy’s trying to provoke a war between our Pack and the foxes?
Storm licked her chops in anxiety. But who would do such a thing? Who would even want to?
Entirely against her will, an image formed in her mind: a snarling muzzle, rigid upright ears, small savage black eyes, long deadly teeth. A Fierce Dog. Once again, Storm tried to shake the thought away; the trouble was, it wouldn’t go.
It wasn’t Arrow, she knew that. She was more sure of him than she was of herself!
But there were other Fierce Dogs out there, somewhere. Just because they’d seen Ripper’s dead body, it didn’t mean all of Blade’s Pack was gone forever. Another dog from that sinister, awful Dog-Garden might be stalking nearby, coming closer, making its devious plans for some end that Storm couldn’t guess.
And if she couldn’t fathom what they were planning, and why, how could she possibly stop it?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The undergrowth prickled Storm’s nose as she pushed through it, scenting for prey. The bushes were still sprouting new leaves, and some of the tiny green thorns that grew with them could be unexpectedly vicious. She winced as one jabbed her mouth, but at her side, Mickey growled encouragingly.
“These thorns would drive a dog mad, I know. S
torm, check that fallen tree over there, will you? There might be something living in it.”
She spotted the large trunk, which must have fallen a few Ice Winds ago; it was thickly covered in moss and the forest had grown up around it. It did seem like a good prospect for prey, but when she investigated it thoroughly, she discovered nothing more than old traces of shrew.
“There’s been a nest of something there, Mickey,” she told him, drawing back, “but they’ve moved on.”
“Don’t worry.” He sounded disappointed, though. “Woody might find something.”
Storm glanced to the side. Despite the thickness of the underbrush, she could make out the brown-and-white dog snuffling around for prey. The hunting party was moving too slowly, she thought with frustration. Now that each hunt patrol included a scout dog, the rest of them could take more time investigating the terrain in detail; but although it might prove more efficient, Storm found the new routine infuriating. When another dog ran ahead to find prey-heavy areas, or to warn them of an approaching threat, Storm herself had no excuse to race across meadows, searching creatures out with her own nose.
I’m sure my legs will stiffen up altogether if we go on like this, she thought dolefully.
She gave a silent sigh, annoyed at herself. Lucky’s idea had been a really good one, and she knew it was a more efficient way of hunting. Indeed, she’d been honored and excited to be chosen for the first hunting party to go out with a scout dog. Even when Lucky had assigned Dart to be their scout, Storm hadn’t minded. She knew she could handle the skinny chase-dog’s snide remarks about Fierce Dogs, so long as Dart did her job properly. But Dart hadn’t ended up being their scout after all.
Storm pricked her ears. Ahead of her there was a crashing in the undergrowth, a rustling of leaves and a snapping of twigs, and suddenly Whisper burst into view, his jaw open in a grin as he panted. Storm tried not to wince as his eyes lingered adoringly on hers.
“What’s up, Whisper?” she managed to growl.
“Nothing, Storm. All’s clear up ahead. No threats that I can smell—and I’ve smelled all around, for at least two or three rabbit-chases!”
Mickey’s throat rumbled disapprovingly. “Whisper, why are you telling this to Storm? I’m the hunt leader today.”
Embarrassment drove all the eager cheer from Whisper’s features. His ears drooped. “Sorry, Mickey.”
“That’s all right.” Mickey gave Storm a long-suffering glance. “Do get it right next time, though.”
“I’ll go and check again!” said Whisper, and bolted back the way he’d come.
“Oh, in the name of the Earth-Dog,” snarled Storm, when his gray rump had vanished into the undergrowth. “I’m really sorry, Mickey. I wish he wouldn’t defer to me all the time. He knows I’m not in charge of this hunt.”
Mickey gave a growling laugh. “It’s not your fault, Storm.”
“But I don’t know what’s wrong with him! I wish he hadn’t volunteered to be a scout today. Why couldn’t he just let Dart do it?” Dart had been all too quick to agree to the swap, and now here was Storm, stuck on yet another hunt with the dog who wouldn’t leave her alone.
“I think it’s obvious why he couldn’t leave Dart to it,” growled Mickey, but she could hear the amusement in his voice.
“What?” Storm snapped her head around to stare at him. “What’s obvious? I wish you’d explain it to me.”
“Nothing. Not my place to point it out.” But the Farm Dog was still repressing his mirth, she could tell.
“Mickey, what do you mean?” Exasperated, Storm halted.
“Oh, Storm.” Sighing, Mickey grew more serious. “Don’t you see it yourself?”
“See what? I don’t—”
“Whisper’s feelings for you might be . . . well, they might be more than normal affection for a Packmate. Do you understand?”
“Not really. I—oh.” It hit her like a falling branch. She sat back abruptly on her haunches. “No. No, Mickey, that can’t be it!”
“I think you’ll find it is, Storm. Every dog can see how he looks at you.”
“Whisper wants to be my mate?” Her jaw sagged with horror. “I don’t want a mate! At all! Especially not Whisper!”
“Oh come on, Storm, you must have thought about having a mate at some point.” Mickey twitched his whiskers in surprise.
“I can’t think of anything I want less!” she exploded. “Why does a hunter need a mate? What’s the point? And . . . Whisper!”
“All right, all right.” The laughter was back in Mickey’s voice. “But I still think it explains his, um . . . affection.”
There was a sinking sensation in Storm’s gut as she got back to her paws. Mickey was only trying to explain—trying to be kind— but now she felt worse. What was Whisper thinking?
At that moment her unwanted admirer returned, panting, through the bushes. Whisper gazed at her, tail wagging happily, but he managed to turn to Mickey before he spoke.
“There’s a strong prey smell up ahead, Mickey. In a part of the wood near Twitch’s old territory.”
Mickey nodded. “All right. This area’s not proving very fruitful, so we may as well move on. Well done, Whisper.”
The gray dog almost glowed, and he darted his eyes at Storm, as if making sure that she’d heard the hunt leader’s praise. “Thanks, Mickey!”
“Woody!” Mickey turned to give a sharp bark, and the thickset dog came bounding over. “Whisper says there’s prey ahead—you and I will check it out. Let’s go.”
Before Storm could protest, the two of them had sprung ahead and disappeared into the undergrowth, and her yowl of desperate appeal stuck in her throat. They’ve left me alone with Whisper! Mickey, how could you?
She could run away, she thought dismally, and try to catch up with Mickey—but Whisper was a fast dog. Why else had he been picked to be a scout? She’d never outrun him. Storm heaved a sigh. I’m stuck with him till we get to the new prey territory.
She let her tongue loll, and forced herself to sound upbeat but casual. “Come on then. We should go after them.”
Whisper showed no sign of moving. He cocked his head and stared at her, his eyes full of affectionate concern. Storm felt like disemboweling him on the spot.
“Storm, are you all right? After last night?”
Her jaw opened, then closed again. “What? You mean, after the big argument? That was nothing to do with me.”
“No, no!” He panted encouragingly and tilted his head. “I mean later, when you walked in your sleep. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
Storm’s head reeled. She felt as if she’d fallen off a high cliff, and hadn’t hit the ground yet. She blinked at Whisper, aghast. At last she managed to draw breath and stammer, “I—I did what?”
“Walked in your sleep. I saw you!”
“No.” She shook herself vigorously and tried to push past the gray dog, as panic rose in her chest. “You were dreaming, Whisper.”
“I wasn’t!” He hurried alongside her as she paced after Mickey. “I was worried, and I waited up, and I saw you come back to the hunters’ den. And you were walking, but you were kind of stumbling. You were obviously fast asleep! Storm, I’m worried about you!”
Her mind whirled. Storm felt sick, and there was a lump of dread in her stomach. Whisper clearly had no idea how bad this might be; he was only worried about her safety. “It’s nothing, Whisper! Just a bad habit.”
“But you could have walked off a cliff, or anything.” He pushed in front of her, forcing her to stop.
Storm wanted to sink her teeth in his scruff and fling him out of her way. Instead she gritted her fangs hard. “I said it’s nothing! Leave me alone!” What might I have done, she thought with sudden horror. And would I remember doing it? I could have done anything and I’d have no memory of it!
And why did Whisper, of all dogs, have to see me like that?
“Storm, you can talk to me! Honestly, don’t worry. It’s no big deal.”
/> “I don’t know how you can even say that!” she barked in his face. “I asked you to forget it and leave me alone, so do that. Please!”
She barged past him, to find the brush opened out just ahead into a desolate wasteland littered with dead trees and fallen branches. Taking a deep breath, Storm trotted on as fast as she could, but as she’d feared, there was no losing Whisper. He bounded alongside her for a rabbit-chase or more, then at last ran ahead, casting her one final worried glance.
She ignored it, turning her head away with the pretense of searching for Mickey. All she wanted to do was hunt—why did the dogs of her Pack have to make that so difficult? Why can’t they do as I ask, and leave me be? I don’t want to think about what Mickey said, and I don’t want to think about Whisper, and I certainly don’t want to think about my stupid dreams, and the way I seem to act them out. . . .
“Storm!” Mickey’s voice cut into her agonized thoughts. “There’s a rabbit trail over by that rotten stump—can you follow it, please?”
I’ll do better than that, she thought grimly as she bounded away across the litter of white branches in the direction he’d shown her. I need to catch some prey. I need to stop thinking!
The scent trail was easy enough to pick up, but it wound away across the wrecked stretch of land, and Storm found herself entirely uninterested in traipsing after it. Her eyes were younger and better than Mickey’s, and she knew what that smear of shadow was beyond the silvered trunks of dead trees. A warren entrance!
Storm swallowed down all her anxieties and frustrations, and sprinted over to the burrow. Plunging her muzzle in, she breathed deeply. Yes! There’s a rabbit in there!
She needed no further incentive. Letting excitement sweep through her muscles and veins in a great tide, she hurled herself at the burrow. She dug ferociously, thrusting her claws in, dragging up the earth till it showered around her and her chest and shoulders were spattered with soil.
Still she dug, tearing at the ground, her muscles working furiously. The scent of the rabbit was almost overpowering now, and there was more—there was the reek of its fear as she dug closer. It made Storm heady with desire. Her mouth and nostrils were full of soil and her muzzle must be filthy, and mud was clumped between her paw pads, but she didn’t care. So close!
