Sweet's Journey (2 page)

That's a swift-dog! I'm sure of it!

In an instant, visions of her life with the swift-dog Pack flitted across the eye of her mind, sending pangs of regret through her. Callie the Beta had bullied and intimidated her, it was true, but Sweet had been loyal to her Pack; she had loved them. The memory of her Packmates being rounded up for the Trap House, the echoes of their howls as they were captured, filled her head with chaos and misery, and Sweet had to crouch down in the dry fallen leaves, pressing herself close against the ground and flattening her ears.

She and Lucky had been the only dogs to make it out of that Trap House alive when the Big Growl struck. She had been certain of it. . . .

But now, she wasn't so sure.

Is every one of my Packmates truly dead?
Sweet realized she didn't know, and she didn't even want to believe it.
Maybe some of them escaped the longpaws. Maybe some of them were never captured at all. . . .

There was no choice to be made; she had to follow this scent. Sweet sprang to her feet, and set off at a run again. If any of her Packmates were still alive, she
had
to track them down. The recognition was followed instantly by a horrible bolt of shame.

I ran
.

Of course I ran. I'm a swift-dog, it's what I was born for. . . .

But I ran when my Pack was in trouble, and the longpaws caught me on my own
.

If she hadn't fled like a coward, Sweet realized, she'd know what had happened; she'd know whether any of her Pack had escaped the longpaws' attack. She'd have shared their fate. Maybe they'd have all died, been crushed in the collapse of the Trap House, but at least they'd have been
together
.

My Pack
.

Desperately she raced on, following the scent almost blindly, so when the trees ended suddenly in a bright expanse of meadow, she skidded, shocked. The sun was bright overhead, dazzling her eyes after the shadows of the forest, and she could hear the sound of running water.

Flanks heaving, Sweet sniffed the air.
The river!
She was so thirsty . . . and she remembered how her Pack had loved to swim. They'd splashed and swum in the cool, clear stream sent by the River-Dog, the stream that washed grit and grime from a dog's fur and soothed aching paw pads. . . .

Sweet trotted eagerly toward the bank, but within a rabbit-chase of the water's edge she halted. The delicate scent of the river
was overlaid with something stronger, something unpleasant. As she drew closer it stung her nostrils, making her wrinkle her muzzle and back away.

Her stomach churned as she stared at the rippling stream, flecked now with yellow foam. Was the river sick?

Uncertainly she began to pace along the bank, angling her head away from the water to avoid the increasing stench. Even the dry tightness in her throat couldn't persuade her to lap at that sickly scum.
But if I want to go farther, I'll need to cross the water. Is it safe to swim in it?

With a rush of relief, she saw ahead of her one of the longpaw bridges that crossed stretches of water. It didn't look as new and solid as the one she'd seen that morning. The timber was damp in places, dark with rot, and the whole thing swayed alarmingly as the torrent beat against it—but it was at least in one piece.

Sweet glanced back at her flanks. She'd never been a heavy or even a sturdy sort of dog, and now her ribs showed clearly through her hide. Even so, she wasn't sure the fragile bridge would hold her weight.

But what choice do I have?
Sweet sighed inwardly.

I need a Pack so badly. I have to try. . . .

After all, hadn't that swift-dog—the one whose scent she'd
caught—made it over the bridge? She could smell its scent, leading her across. If she wanted to reach that dog, Sweet had to follow. Catching her breath, she placed a tentative paw on the first shaky planks.

It seemed to sag under her slender weight, but as she set another paw beside the first, the bridge settled and steadied. One by one, she brought her hindpaws onto the surface too, and stood still for a moment, trembling.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she edged forward, ready to leap back at the first sign of collapse. One glance at the rushing water below her, scum-flecked and oddly yellowish, made Sweet more certain than ever that she didn't want to fall in.

Beneath her creeping paws, the bridge groaned, and she stopped, one paw in the air.
Don't startle it
, she told herself.

One more step, and she heard a terrible screeching creak behind her. Hardly daring to look back, she stopped again, heart slamming against her ribs.
It's going to fall. . . .

Slowly she craned her head around, pricking her ears with anxiety, and she felt a sinking sensation like a stone in her belly.

I've come too far across! I
can't
go back
.

There was only one thing for it:
go forward
. Panting, Sweet bunched her muscles, her whole body quivering. Briefly she shut
her eyes, then snapped them open.

Springing forward, Sweet bolted, running as she'd never run before. She could barely feel the rotting wood beneath her paws; she could only hear the creak and rumble and splash as chunks of the bridge fell away behind and beneath her. She was sure she was running on nothing but thin air, her claws scrabbling for purchase, her panting breath stabbing like teeth in her chest. As the roar of collapse filled her ears, she leaped for the bank.

Sweet crashed to the solid ground on her flank, legs still flailing, but she'd made it. And only just in time. Rolling over and stumbling to her paws, she saw the foaming water engulf the shattered bridge as the River-Dog gulped it greedily down.

Oh, River-Dog, you must have been hungry. . . .

Still panting for breath, her chest aching, Sweet dipped her head and closed her eyes.
Thank you, River-Dog, for letting me cross before you ate the bridge
.

As the shock faded, a whine of unhappiness built inside her, escaping at last in a choked whimper.

And River-Dog? If my friend Lucky comes to you? Please, please find a way to let him cross too. . . .

The Sun-Dog was slinking alarmingly close
to the horizon behind her as Sweet padded on, her paws aching with every step. The sky ahead had darkened to a grayish blue, but there was still enough light for her to make out the terrible wounds in the earth.

She skirted them widely whenever she caught sight of one, her fur bristling, her heart pounding. The scars were scratched deep in the ground, and some plunged so far down into blackness, Sweet couldn't make out where they ended. They were jagged and horrible, as if some monster had dug its claws into the land and torn out its insides.

And a monster
had
done just that, Sweet realized in horror. The Big Growl had inflicted these dreadful wounds.

Poor Earth-Dog. She must be in such pain. . . .

Sweet's nostrils twitched. Ahead of her there was the smell of old and dead fires, like the cold remnants of a forest blaze, but
fainter. She could only press on, but she moved with much more caution now, her eyes peering ahead into the dimming twilight. Old cinders and ashes were not the only scent that reached her. There was a frightening tang, strong but fading, of longpaws.

Every sense alert, every muscle tensed to run, Sweet crept closer to the source of the odors.
I have to go through this place. There's no other way to find that swift-dog
.

She jerked back, hackles rising, as she nearly trod in a shallow pit. Wrinkling her muzzle, she sniffed at it. Blackened ash and charred logs, but they were cold and dead. Glancing around, she noticed more small pits, and planks of wood raised up on legs.
The kind of place a longpaw would sit
. But why would longpaws make small fires in the forest?

There was no sign or sound of longpaws, though; only their fading smell, so Sweet forced herself to pad on through the darkening evening. Beyond a line of trees she saw the faint glint of light on metal, and she paused to sniff the air.

They were loudcages, she realized—huge ones, their black rubber paws motionless and overgrown with grass. There was no smell of the fire-juice that the longpaws fed their smaller loudcages. Feeling a little more confident, Sweet crept forward and eased between two of the huge cages.

There was no movement at all. In the flank of the one on her left, a flap of metal swung open, creaking in the light breeze.

Gathering her courage, Sweet climbed carefully up the metal steps that led to the hole, and poked her head cautiously inside the loudcage. Still there was no sign of life. The loudcage smelled strongly of longpaws; their furs had been left draped across seats and hanging on hooks, and there was a trace of a food-smell. Not an especially nice food-smell, thought Sweet as she nosed at a gaping door; it reminded her of spoil-boxes in the city, with their reek of rot and decay. The longpaws must have made a den inside this cold and empty cage.

What strange creatures the longpaws were. . . .

She shivered. There was nothing for her here. She'd rather hunt for herself, alone, than trust the longpaws' abandoned food. Backing out of the loudcage and down the metal steps, she shook herself and trotted quickly on between two rows of the huge loudcages. As she passed one beast, the familiar swift-dog scent struck her nostrils, making her paws falter.

It was so much stronger now. Stronger, and terribly familiar . . .

Callie!

Changing direction, Swift trotted on into the trees beyond
the loudcages. She had to find her former Beta, though she hoped very much that there were other swift-dogs with Callie. Would her old enemy even be happy to see Sweet? She doubted it.

Her paw steps slowed, uncertain, as the scent grew stronger. No, there were no other dogs here—and Callie's trail was still. The Beta had not moved for a while. Sweet cocked her head, curious and alert.

Was that a whimper?

If Callie's hurt, she won't be able to help me. And I might not be able to do anything for her. I could just walk away. . . .

No
, she realized, with a jolt.
That's not the kind of dog I am. I'm a Pack Dog, and Packmates don't abandon each other. No matter what
.

The decision gave her new courage. Pacing forward into the tree shadows, she saw a shape lying quite still, its flanks moving jerkily with each shallow breath.

“Callie?” Sweet murmured hesitantly.

The dog raised its head, ears coming forward, but the eyes were bright with pain and resentment.

“Callie, it
is
you.”

Callie whimpered, wincing with pain at even the small movement. Then her voice lowered to a disdainful growl, and her muzzle curled.

“Well, if it isn't Sweet. The dog who ran away,” she sneered. “Want a fight, do you? I'm sure you'll be able to beat me now. Coward.”

Sweet took a breath. Callie's words were like a claw in her gut, and she almost wished the Beta was fit enough to attack her physically. That might have hurt less. And the sting of Callie's accusation was all the worse for being true. In the Pack's moment of greatest peril, Sweet had turned tail and fled.

She swallowed hard. “I'm not here to fight you, Callie.”

“Oh? In that case, you might as well go ahead and mock me. I won't be fighting again.” Callie's muzzle peeled back from her fangs.

“I wouldn't do that either.” Sweet padded forward and around to Callie's side. Still the wounded swift-dog didn't move, and Sweet took a breath when she saw the deep gash in Callie's flank. Worse, one of her hind legs flopped uselessly to the side, crushed and bleeding. Sweet blinked, overwhelmed by pity.

“Don't look at me like that,” snarled Callie.

Composing herself, Sweet tried to sound matter-of-fact. “What happened, Callie?”

“You get to call me Callie now, do you?” the swift-dog sneered. “Because I'm not your Beta anymore? You would not dare be so
insolent if I could
move
.”

“The reason you're not my Beta is because our Pack is gone,” snapped Sweet, then calmed herself again. There was nothing to be gained from a squabble. She tried again: “What happened?”

Callie grunted. “I escaped from the Trap House. Like you, I suppose. I thought you'd died with the rest. I came through the forest, crossed the river; I did
all that
. And then I made the mistake of smelling food in one of these cursed things.” She jerked her head at the nearest loudcage. “Tried to climb into its belly. It lost its balance and fell on top of me. So much for my swift-dog speed, eh? I'll never run again.”

“Callie.” Sweet dipped her nose to lick her old Beta's ear. “I'm so sorry.”

For a moment Callie was silent, then at last she said gruffly: “I won't even walk again. I'm done for, Sweet.”

Sweet nuzzled her, unable to think of anything to say.