Storm of Dogs (2 page)

Lucky's eyes snapped open, and a
terrified whine escaped his throat. He caught his breath, his ears pricking up. Gone were the crashes and howls of the Trap House.

It
was
a dream . . . and we
did
survive!

He breathed deeply, relief coursing through his limbs. The night air was silent and cool. From the mouth of the den he could see an icy breeze stirring the leafless branches of the trees that dotted the territory. He saw the grassy slope near the top of the cliffs, the place where he and the rescue party had found the Pack after their failed mission to save their friend, Fiery. Sweet had decided that they would stay there, despite the dangers they faced—they had expended too much energy in their endless hunt for safer territories.

Lucky turned to look at Sweet, the Pack's Alpha and his new mate. The swift-dog was curled against Lucky's side, her warm body soothing against his fur as her chest rose and fell in sleep. Her cream muzzle twitched and relaxed, and she snored gently. Lucky felt his whiskers prickle with a familiar sense of affection. He licked her nose very gently. Sweet
snuffled, but she didn't wake up.

Rising to his paws and stretching, Lucky peered about their den, a sort of cave built of hedges and ivy. It was the best den in the territory, once claimed by their half-wolf previous Alpha. He shuddered as he thought of the half wolf.
That traitor! Siding with Blade and the Fierce Dogs
. . .

Lucky trod out of the den onto frosty grass that crunched beneath his paws. The trees and the incline of the land blocked the worst of the wind that bounded over the Endless Lake. Still, its icy touch ruffled Lucky's fur, and he shivered. The sky was a thick, dark pelt, with tiny glinting stars like watchful eyes. Lucky picked his way between his sleeping Packmates, who were hunkered down between shrubs. Not all of them had wanted to stay in this territory upon the cliffs, so close to the deserted longpaw town below where the Fierce Dogs had made their lair. Sweet had been resolute: They could make hunting trips over the hills while prey was sparse, but the Pack was staying put. Constantly wandering would tire out every dog. They needed a base, a territory to defend—a camp to call home.

No dog had challenged her authority.

Lucky had wanted to stay too . . . but he had other reasons for believing that they had to make a stand.

As Lucky crept between the dogs, his eyes rested on Storm. Her sleeping body twitched with tension and her top lip sprang up, revealing a long white fang. Muscles clenched beneath her fur—even in sleep, she looked ferocious. Lucky paused, his ears twisting back, wondering what she was dreaming about to make her so tense. It couldn't be the Big Growl—she hadn't even been alive when it had happened.

A low snarl escaped Storm's lips, and Lucky shifted uneasily from paw to paw. Was she reliving her brutal fight with her litter-brother Fang? Nearly a full journey of the Moon-Dog had passed since the fight, and Storm's ugly purple scars had almost healed. The Fierce Dogs' Trial of Rage demanded that one dog kill the other, but they had both survived—Storm had proven her maturity and self-control, sparing her brother despite his frenzied attack. Remembering the young dog's loyalty and resilience, Lucky's chest swelled
with pride.

With a sudden jerk, Storm sprang onto her paws, her eyes wide open, her gaze darting back and forth in the darkness as though she expected an enemy to be there. Then they rested on Lucky and she sat back down, her tail wagging gently.

He padded toward her and touched her nose with his. “How are you feeling?”

Storm flexed her forepaw. “Much better. Look! It doesn't hurt anymore when I put weight on it!” She demonstrated, trotting a circle around Lucky.

Lucky inspected her face. The scratches around her muzzle had healed well, but the missing scrap of her left ear would never grow back. He glanced at the dogs sleeping nearby. “Let's step away from the den.”

The young Fierce Dog nodded and followed him to the first of the low trees that led to the pond. “What are you doing up before the Sun-Dog?” she asked.

Lucky sighed. Telling Storm about his dreams would only alarm her. “As the Ice Wind deepens, the Sun-Dog sleeps longer. But we dogs don't have such a luxury.” He turned his head away and sniffed the air, trying to hide it from Storm—he thought he could smell the sharp scent of snow.

“The longer we sleep, the more vulnerable we are to attack,” Storm agreed. She paused, tilting her dark head. “But perhaps the prey-creatures are also sleeping longer. Maybe we can have an easy hunt!”

Lucky wagged his tail encouragingly. “We can try.” He felt the need to be out there, searching between the trees and tracking the territory to the cliffs. The Patrol Dogs kept watch over their territory both night and day, and there'd been no sign of their enemies since the battle between Storm and Fang. But Lucky knew the Wild Dogs couldn't rest. While Blade and the attack-dogs were out there, his Pack would always be in danger.

The Sun-Dog was flexing his whiskers above the horizon when Storm appeared at Lucky's side. She dropped a large, plump bird, its pale, tawny feathers tipped with gray, by the one that Lucky had already caught. The birds' necks were long and black and their faces were black too, except for thick white marks beneath their beaks. Over the past days, Lucky had
seen giant Packs of these birds soaring overhead, flying across the Endless Lake. They all appeared from the same direction, each Pack following their own Alphas.

How do they all know where to go?
Lucky wondered, not for the first time. Could the birds sense things that dogs could not, like the direction of warm skies? Did they follow the Sun-Dog to lands where he never fell asleep and it was always bright?

Several of the birds had gathered on the rocks near the cliffs. That was how Lucky and Storm had made their kills—high in the sky, the birds were graceful and fast, but on the rocks they shuffled awkwardly.

Lucky and Storm picked up the prey-creatures and made their way back to the camp. The other dogs were awake, stretching in the low light of sunup while Daisy, who had watched over the Pack as they slept, napped in the Patrol Dogs' den. She lifted her head and the other dogs yipped excitedly as Lucky and Storm approached.

Beetle ran loops around the returning dogs, licking his chops. He was joined by his litter-sister, Thorn, who bounded up to the birds and sniffed them uncertainly.

“What
are
they?” She prodded one with an outstretched paw. “I've never seen such a long neck!”

Beetle's eyes widened, and he paused. “Only Lucky could catch such strange creatures!” he yelped, awestruck. “The Spirit Dogs are on your side!”

Lucky wasn't sure what sort of birds they were, but before he could answer, Moon padded next to her pups. “They're geese,” she commented with a wry twitch of her pointed black ears.

Knowing the creatures' name did nothing to dampen Beetle's enthusiasm. “Lucky, do you think your Father-Dog could have been a Spirit Dog?” he barked.

Sweet emerged from the den and met Lucky's eye, her head cocked in amusement.

She's laughing at me—at Beetle's hero worship.

“No,” Lucky said quickly, embarrassed. “I'm sure he wasn't, Beetle.”

Lucky looked back at the pup. He was a little smaller than his litter-sister. Like their Mother-Dog, Moon, his fur was black and white, but his snout was stubby and his limbs
were broad.
He's looking more like Fiery every day. And I guess he's trying to find someone to replace his Father-Dog.

After the dogs had shared the geese, taking turns by rank from Sweet down to Sunshine, the Pack Omega, some of them gathered for a fight-training session with Storm. The young Fierce Dog demonstrated how to dodge and block blows as the others watched.

“The trick is speed,” she told them. “Your opponent won't see you coming. Your aim is to get the advantage, push them to the ground, and hold them by the throat.”

Lucky looked to the assembled dogs, nervously gauging their reactions. Mickey and Snap were doing their best to mimic Storm's forward dip, outstretching their forepaws. Bruno jutted out his paw with a stiff grunt as Bella and Martha took turns practicing the blocking. Even Whine, usually the first to complain about fight-training, was watching with interest. Lucky gave an inward sigh of relief. None of the dogs seemed to mind taking instructions from Storm, regardless of rank.

It's good for everyone that the rules are more relaxed than they were under the half wolf. Storm has skills that she can share; it would be foolish to let rank get in the way. Working together . . . that's what a Pack's all about.

“Daisy, can I demonstrate the move on you?” asked Storm. “It won't hurt.”

The wiry-furred white dog gave an excited yip of agreement and stood at attention. Storm jabbed at her with fangs exposed. When Daisy moved to block the Fierce Dog, Storm dived down, dodging Daisy's teeth and seizing the small dog by her neck. For a moment, she pinned Daisy to the ground. Then she sprang back and Daisy rolled onto her paws.

Storm gave her a friendly lick and turned to the others. “Now you try it.”

“It's harder for me,” whined Thorn. “My muzzle isn't as big as yours. Even when I'm fully grown, I'll never be able to close my jaws around another dog's neck.”

Storm barked insistently, “Any dog can do this move, even smaller ones. It's not about size, it's about confidence. It doesn't matter if you don't have the best hold. An enemy—
any enemy
—will panic when he feels fangs at his throat.”

Lucky didn't doubt that this was true, but he wondered how Storm knew it. And where
had she learned the dive-and-block technique? She had been raised by the Wild Pack, not the Fierce Dogs. She had never been
taught
these deadly moves.

She must know how to fight instinctively.

He was glad that the traitorous half wolf wasn't here to see this. The old Alpha had never trusted Storm. Lucky's tail dropped a little at the thought, and he watched as Beetle took his position in front of Thorn. The pup's dark muzzle quivered, and he took a step back.
He's scared that his litter-sister is going to rip his throat out!
Lucky realized. Was the exercise too tough for the young dogs?

Thorn sprang at him, jabbing with her teeth, as Storm had, before diving down to Beetle's throat. The young dog moved quickly, yipping in triumph, but her litter-brother shook and freed himself, tipping her off balance. Thorn rolled onto her side, and Beetle threw his forepaws on her flank, pinning her down.

Then he glanced nervously at Storm. “I'm sorry . . . that wasn't supposed to happen, I just . . .” He dropped back, head lowered, as his litter-sister rose to her paws with an apologetic whine.

A ripple of apprehension ran down Lucky's back. Moon's pups were only a little younger than Storm, yet they cowered before her.
Is it something Storm's doing—some kind of natural dominance?

The young Fierce Dog gave Thorn a little nudge. “Don't worry, you're learning—it takes practice to get it right.” She turned to Beetle. “And you shouldn't feel bad for having good instincts—they could save you in a fight.”

Lucky's tension drained away, and his tail rose with a relieved wag.
Storm isn't the angry attack-dog that Alpha took her for. She's showing patience and understanding. She's more like us than the Fierce Dogs.

Feeling a wave of pride, Lucky turned and started padding between the trees. Storm didn't need him standing over her.
I trust her.
His paws crunched over the frosty grass as he made his way to the edge of the camp where the cliffs hung over the Endless Lake. The air was salty and so cold that it cut beneath Lucky's fur. Gray clouds gathered in the sky,
bringing with them the promise of harsher weather. He closed his eyes, remembering the swirling snow he had seen in the dreams he used to have: the dreams about the Storm of Dogs. When he opened them, he thought he saw a flash of dark fur slip between the trees.

Lucky's breath caught in his throat. He blinked, peering at the trees. Had he imagined it? He trod stealthily over the frost, doing his best to stay quiet. There was no scent on the air, and no paw prints were etched in the hard ground. He examined the circle of trees, his muzzle low. There was no sign of an unfamiliar dog, but Lucky knew he'd seen someone. His hackles rose as his eyes traced the horizon.

Was some dog here, spying on me?

Rising from the valley, Lucky could hear the yaps of the Wild Pack—they must have finished their training session. It was strange and unsettling to hear them sounding so cheerful and at ease when tension was skittering through Lucky's belly like ants. With a last glance over his shoulder, he turned tail and made his way back to the camp.