A Pack Divided

by Erin Hunter

  One last yank with her forepaws, and a huge lump of earth came loose and crumbled. With a yelp, Storm shoved her head and shoulders deep into the burrow, snapping wildly. And sure enough, her jaws closed around soft fur and warm flesh. The rabbit was kicking, flailing desperately as it struggled to burrow deeper, but it was too late. Storm’s teeth crunched on its spine. She felt it go limp in her mouth, and she backed out swiftly, the rabbit clenched in her fangs. Storm flung it down and slammed her forepaws onto it.

  It was dead, of course. She should feel satisfied, now—so why was she still so angry? Snarling, she seized its haunch in her jaws and tore, feeling the limb come away. So easy, so weak. She bit again, ripping at its head, then at its back. Blood and entrails mixed with the mud that caked her muzzle. She clamped her jaws on the rabbit’s shoulder and pulled—

  “Storm! Storm!” Mickey slammed into her shoulder, making her stumble. In shock, Storm let the rabbit fall from her jaws.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mickey was in her face now, barking furiously.

  Storm’s head spun. She blinked hard, staring down at the prey she’d caught.

  There was almost nothing left of it to take back to the Pack. The rabbit between her forepaws was in shreds, its flesh torn and pulped into the ground. What remained of it wasn’t even worth eating.

  With a wrench of horror and shame in her belly, Storm raised her head. Mickey’s shoulders were hunched with fury, and his lips were drawn back from his teeth. Storm shivered with appalled misery.

  What have I done? How could I let Mickey down like this?

  “Fierce Dogs,” muttered Woody behind him. “What can you say? No surprise there.”

  At once rage fizzed through her bloodstream again, and Storm had to take a sharp breath and hold herself still to keep herself from turning on the other dog. Her whole body quivered with the effort. Why can’t I ever control myself? Maybe Woody’s right!

  What had gotten her so worked up, after all? A dog being nice to her? A dog expressing some affection and concern? And that had thrown her into such a rage, she’d take it out on this helpless piece of prey . . . ?

  Storm’s heart was thundering in her ribs, and her head hurt as if her skull were about to split, but she licked her jaws and managed to control herself. I won’t snap at Woody; that would only prove him right. Determinedly she turned away from him, crouched low in front of Mickey, and whined softly. After a moment, as he glared down at her, she rolled over to expose her belly.

  “I’m sorry, Mickey.” She found his eyes and blinked beseechingly. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

  Mickey was breathing hard, but at last he relaxed and sat back on his haunches. He nodded. “All right, Storm. Just make sure it doesn’t.” His tail tapped, and he cast an anxious look at the remains of the rabbit, as if he couldn’t help himself.

  “It won’t,” she pleaded. “I promise.”

  “All right.” He stood up and stepped back as Storm rolled back onto her paws and scrambled upright, her flanks still shuddering. “The rabbit’s not worth taking back, and there’s a heavy scent of prey ahead. Let’s find what’s making it, and take a good meal home for the Pack, yes?”

  Woody yipped his agreement, clearly relieved that the awful moment was over—though no dog could be as relieved as I am, thought Storm remorsefully. But as she turned with him to follow Mickey, she saw Whisper racing toward them. His eyes glittered with fear, and his whole body trembled.

  Oh no, thought Storm with an inward groan. Not again . . .

  Her worst fears were realized when he made straight for her, flinging himself close to her flank. As he slithered to a halt, he trembled against her.

  Storm flinched away, angry. Why did he have to act like this, right now, and in front of Woody and Mickey? All the same, she couldn’t help a pang of concern as she stared down at the gray dog. There was genuine terror in his eyes, and tremors ran through his muscles.

  “What’s happened?” she whined, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. This day surely can’t get any worse. . . .

  Whisper huddled even tighter against her, if that was possible. His voice shook as he whimpered.

  “I followed the prey scent, Storm. I followed it all the way. And then I had to stop, I couldn’t go farther because it was right in front of me!”

  “What, Whisper, what?”

  He gulped, and licked his chops. “A giantfur!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “What do we do, Mickey? Follow the prey, or retreat?” Woody tilted his head at the black-and-white Farm Dog.

  Mickey licked his jaws. Woody was watching him carefully, and Whisper even more so. The gray dog was still shivering against Storm’s flank, and she had to fight the desire to bat him away like an annoying pup.

  At last Mickey gave a nod. “Let’s go forward. Very carefully, though. We’ll take it slowly and keep our noses sharp.”

  “But the giantfur . . .” moaned Whisper.

  “They’re not a threat to dogs. Not unless we disturb them, or attack them. If we give the giantfur a wide berth, and don’t act threatening, we should be fine.” Mickey turned and trotted in the direction the prey trail led them, and Woody fell in behind him.

  Storm sighed and glanced down at Whisper. She could still feel the tremor of his muscles against her own flesh, and watching his wide, scared eyes, she felt her heart melt a little. He only wants to help. I didn’t have to be so harsh.

  “Come on,” she said, giving him a nudge with her shoulder. “We’re safest when we’re all together, and I’ll protect you if the giantfur attacks. Let’s catch up with the others.”

  His gaze lowered in shame. “I’m not sure I can do this, Storm.”

  “Of course you can,” she told him. “Remember, there’s no Fear-Dog! There’s not some Spirit Dog making you feel afraid; you can control your own fear.”

  Whisper brightened. “You’re right.” His tongue lolled as he glanced up at her. “You’re right, Storm. And you always know exactly what to say.”

  If only you knew, she thought glumly. “Let’s go, then.”

  As the dogs moved past the desolation of the skeleton forest and into greener land, Storm at last managed to shake off Whisper, and he fell back to walk with Woody. Storm bounded to catch up with Mickey, who gave her a sidelong glance. His nostrils were flared wide.

  “The prey scent is stronger now, Storm.” His eyes were bright with nervous anticipation. “Can you smell it?”

  “Oh yes.” Storm pricked her ears forward, frowning. “There’s something else, though.”

  “And not just the giantfur,” agreed Mickey. “Can you smell the blood? Whatever the prey is, it’s hurt. And there’s another animal I can’t identify.”

  The softer, grassy ground was bliss on Storm’s paw pads. She stepped carefully between tussocks, trying to avoid dry leaves and twigs. She couldn’t make any sudden noises; they were so close to the giantfur now, they had to be even more careful.

  Hesitantly, Mickey prowled around a thicket of flowering scrub. Storm saw his legs stiffen, and she hurried to his side.

  He nodded at a hollow beneath the bush. “I knew I smelled something else.”

  Storm stared at the dead creature that lay there, half chewed. It was the strangest prey she’d ever laid eyes on. It was big—smaller but stockier than a deer—and its hide was covered in sparse prickly hair. The tail was barely worth the name. Its enormous head was turned slightly toward them, so that Storm could see two tiny half-open eyes and two curving fangs curling up from its lower jaw.

  What was most noticeable, though, was how very delicious it smelled. Storm gave a shuddering sigh of longing, and drool gathered in her mouth.

  “A tusknose!” exclaimed Woody from behind them. “I’ve seen those in the forest before, but not often.”

  “And it’s fresh.” Mickey licked his jaws as they gathered around to stare.

  Woody cocked his head, and pawed carefu
lly at the tusknose’s stubby tail. “I’m not sure. I’ve got a feeling we should leave it alone.”

  Whisper nodded vigorously. “Yes. The giantfur scent is stronger than ever!”

  “It’s been here recently.” Mickey took two paces back from the corpse of the tusknose. “This must be its prey.”

  “And if you ask me,” added Whisper, “that smells like the same giantfur Storm saved me from last Ice Wind. When I was trapped by the tree outside its cave.”

  Storm nodded, reluctantly. “I think you’re right, Whisper. The scent is the same.”

  Mickey shook out his fur. “Right. I think the only sensible course of action is to leave this. Big as it is, it’s not worth getting in a fight with a giantfur.”

  He’d already turned to pad away, but Storm bounded after him. “Wait, Mickey!”

  She strained back toward the tusknose, her nostrils widening as she sniffed it. Its odor filled her skull, teasing her with its richness, and she realized drool was escaping from the corner of her jaws. She licked her chops.

  “It’s prey,” she said, turning to Mickey with a pleading expression. “And it’s lying there as if the Forest-Dog gave it to us. We didn’t even have to chase it down!”

  “No, Storm,” said Mickey firmly. “That’s not a good idea.”

  Storm looked from him to Woody. She vividly remembered her moment of mad rage, when she’d deprived the Pack of a rabbit through her own temper. And here was something that would more than make up for it. . . .

  “We’d be crazy to leave this!” she blurted at last.

  Mickey had opened his jaws to argue when Whisper stepped forward. “Storm’s right,” he whined.

  That wasn’t surprising, she thought with an inward sigh. But now Woody was changing his mind and growling in agreement, too, the scent of the tusknose drawing him in.

  “Come on, Mickey. It’s free food for the Pack!”

  “I still don’t think—” began Mickey.

  “But the rest of us agree it’s a good idea.” Woody cocked his head. “And the giantfur isn’t here to complain.”

  Mickey still looked hesitant, but at last he pawed the ground thoughtfully, and nodded. “Supposing you’re right—who’s going to drag this enormous creature back to camp?”

  “I will,” said Storm at once. “I can do it by myself!”

  “Don’t be a silly pup,” snapped Mickey, a little irritably. “If we do this, Woody and Whisper and I will each take a turn. It’s true it would make a good meal, though, and one the Pack desperately needs. Just promise me—if anything happens, we drop the tusknose and run.”

  “Absolutely,” said Woody, and Whisper nodded energetically.

  I’m taking this tusknose no matter what, Storm promised herself secretly.

  “I’ll go get the tusknose,” she murmured. “You three wait here for now.”

  Carefully, one paw at a time, Storm crept back to the hollow. Despite her excitement, she couldn’t repress the throb of fear in her veins. When she reached the dip and began to edge cautiously down the slope, the warning tingle in her fur almost brought her to a halt.

  This is a serious thing you’re doing, Storm. Don’t mess it up. It could end in a lot worse than humiliation. . . .

  The reek of the giantfur was overwhelming now, almost blotting out even the tantalizing scent of the tusknose. If she didn’t know better, Storm would think the giantfur was right there with her, looming over her. . . .

  The crash of undergrowth was so sudden, and so loud, every one of her muscles froze. Storm twisted on her haunches and cowered.

  Oh, Sky-Dogs, it really is looming over me!

  The giantfur’s narrow snout was barely a squirrel-tail’s length from her own—and small it might be, but it was open in a snarl that showed rows of ferocious teeth. Its black eyes glittered with surprise and fury. As Storm stared up, horrified and quite incapable of moving, the giantfur reared up on its hind legs and roared—and that was when Storm saw them, huddled at their mother’s paws . . .

  Two small giantfurs!

  Storm’s innards plummeted with a hideous shock of terror. This was a mistake!

  A huge mistake, a fatal one. Every dog knew that mother giantfurs were at their most dangerous with their cubs around. How could I not have foreseen this? Storm, you fool!

  Oh, Forest-Dog, save my stupid skin!

  “Storm, run!”

  From the lip of the hollow, Mickey’s panicked bark finally snapped her out of her funk. Scrambling to her paws, Storm turned tail and fled, just as the giantfur’s long claws swiped the air where her head had been. She felt the swoosh of their passing like the touch of Ice Wind on her skin, and then she was running for her life.

  She was petrified of tripping, sliding, falling. The whole earth shook with the thunder of the giantfur’s paws as it lumbered after her. And as huge and ungainly as it looked, it was shockingly fast. Storm’s panting breath rasped in her throat; she could barely fill her lungs for terror.

  Ahead she could see the haunches of her hunting partners as they too fled. Whisper was trying to turn back, trying to bark encouragement to her, but Mickey nipped his rump to drive him on. Good, she managed to think. I don’t need Whisper being stupid on top of everything else!

  Mickey seemed to be heading for the vast swath of the dead forest, and Storm was for a moment afraid that he’d run there— the giantfur will easily find us among those skeleton trees!—but at the last moment he veered away and bolted toward a patch of birch and mountain ash. There was no time for the dogs to think as they plunged in among the slender trunks—they could only dodge and swerve and run, but the giantfur was not giving up. It pounded after them, bellowing its rage, and Storm realized quickly that this was no good. The trees were too sparse to provide any kind of cover.

  She was running out of breath and strength; how must Whisper be coping? Just as she thought that, she heard Woody’s frantic bark.

  “Wrong way! We’re leading it to the camp! Turn back!”

  The dogs ducked, twisted, and ran again, the glossy black monster still lumbering swiftly after them. Storm realized with a bolt of horror: It’s going to catch us!

  Her vision was blurred with exhaustion, but she managed to make out a low line of dark green against the yellow grassland. With a last burst of energy, she gave a hoarse bark to alert the others, and sprinted ahead. They followed her as she hurtled toward a scrubby patch of bushes. As she drew closer she could see the dark green leaves, the dots of pink flowers.

  “Get under there!” she howled, skidding to a stop.

  Woody and Mickey didn’t hesitate, diving in among the twisted, thorny branches. Whisper was struggling, running as fast as he could, but Storm could see the whites of his eyes as the giantfur rose behind him. As Whisper stumbled, Storm darted forward, seized the scruff of his neck and flung him under the bush. She saw a flash of long, lethal claws as she leaped herself, and then she was crawling into the shadows of branches, dragging herself by her foreclaws, panting harsh, agonized breaths.

  Thorns dug into her hide, stabbed her skin, but she didn’t care. Her flanks heaved as she lurched, struggling, farther into the scrub. Ahead in the gloom she could make out the others: Woody’s patchy brown fur, Whisper’s gray coat, and the stark black-and-white of Mickey. They were all cringing against the earth, staring back at her with wide white eyes.

  “It knows we’re in here!” Woody twisted his head to stare up as the sounds of crashing echoed through the branches.

  “It won’t follow,” gasped Storm, “I hope.”

  “Hope the thorns keep it out.” Mickey’s muzzle was bleeding from a deep scratch, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

  A branch cracked violently, and showers of leaves pattered around the dogs. They all flinched.

  “It’s coming in,” whimpered Whisper. “It’s coming!”

  Storm cringed lower as the pounding thud of the giantfur’s paws vibrated right through her belly. Another roar made her shut her e
yes tight. More branches splintered and creaked, and she heard a deep guttural snuffling sound.

  “It knows!” whined Woody again.

  “Yes, it does, but it’ll give up soon.” Storm hoped against hope that she was right.

  And then, quite suddenly, the crashing faltered. With a grunt and a last bellow of anger, the giantfur stopped tearing at the bushes. Storm heard it thud down onto all four paws, and then the fading echo as it turned and pounded away, back toward its cubs.

  “Oh, thank the Forest-Dog,” gasped Mickey as silence fell.

  “That,” said Woody, heaving a sigh, “was closer than I ever wanted to be to a giantfur.”

  Storm let her head flop to the dusty ground, and closed her eyes, panting to get her breath back. “I’m so sorry. Bad move.”

  “Oh Storm, never mind that!” The eager bark was all too recognizable. “You saved my life again!”

  She blinked her eyes open, and stared dully. Whisper was gazing right into her face, his expression worshipful.

  “Storm, you are just the best!”

  She gave a quiet groan, and shut her eyes tight once more.

  Oh, Sky-Dogs. Is it too late to throw him to the giantfur?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Storm’s leg muscles ached and her paw pads stung as she trudged back into the camp behind Mickey and Woody, with Whisper trailing at her heels. It wasn’t just the scrapes and bruises from escaping the giantfur that made her whole body hurt, she thought: It had been the sheer gut-churning terror. She felt as if she might never dare to leave her den again.

  That will pass, she thought. But I do feel like the most foolish dog ever born.

  “In the name of the Earth-Dog, what happened?” Lucky trotted to meet them, his whiskers quivering with concern. “You all look as if you’ve been running from Lightning!”