the dogs .
A moment later, Sweet skidded to a brief halt to look back. Her Pack . . . they werenât following! They stood their ground against the longpaws, and panic flooded through Sweetâs belly. Raising her voice, she howled to them in dismay and grief .
Follow me! Follow me! Run with me nowâ
Her own broken howl jolted her out of sleep. Dazed, Sweet shook away the fuzziness of waking and hauled herself onto her forepaws. Her heart thrashed in her narrow chest and her fur was on end all over her body, but there were no longpaws here. No longpaws, no swift-dogs, no Pack . It had been a dream, that was all.
No, not a dream: a memory. A terrible memory.
Why? she thought miserably. Why do I always have to dream about the day I ran?
Slowly Sweet got to her paws, sniffing the strange air. The grass and earth were soft beneath her paw pads, and there was no metal wire caging her in, no walls to stop her from running. This meadow was so much better than the Trap House, yet it wasnât a truly wild place. All around her, Sweet could feel the work of longpaws. The trees stood in ordered ranks, like dogs lined up for a battle. The grass was clipped and smooth, and the glinting riverwas channeled under a stone bridge that had been built with long, hairless paws. The air itself made Sweetâs fur prickle.
It was a good enough place to sleep for one night, but it was no place for a wild swift-dog to liveâespecially a dog with no Pack. Remembering that she was alone now sent a shiver through Sweetâs bones. Sheâd move on at once, she thought, a whine of sadness rising in her throat.
She missed Lucky already. How could he have let her go? How could he want to be alone, in this new world of all worlds? The kind, smart, golden-furred dog sheâd met in the Trap House had insisted all along that he was a Lone Dog, but she hadnât quite believed himânot till heâd refused to come with her on her journey away from the destroyed city.
Sweet clenched her fangs in angry bewilderment. Luckyâs attitude was madness; it was something sheâd never understand, not till the day she went to the Earth-Dog. How could a dog not want to find a Pack? And Sweet knew she would find one: if not today, then tomorrow, or the next day. How could Lucky refuse to come with her to the forest? Ridiculous! There would be dogs there. There would be a Pack she could join to find new strength, a Pack she could help by adding her own strength to theirs. That was the way of dogs; it was what dogs were for !
A little tremor of fear went through her belly. Maybe she shouldnât even have paused to rest in this strange longpaw meadow. Perhaps any dogs who had left the city would have trekked too far by now; perhaps she would never catch up with them. The very thought made Sweet shiver.
No , she reassured herself. A Pack needed a camp, and once dogs found a safe place to make their territory, theyâd stay there. As long as her nose didnât let her down, sheâd find them; she was sure of it.
Sweet couldnât resist breaking into a steady, swift lope as she headed for the forest. Already she could smell it: the rich scent of pine needles and rotting leaves and damp, cool hollows. No clear dog-scents yet, but she was confident those would come. She had only to reach those dense trees that stretched for countless chases, and sheâd find a Pack.
She had to find a Pack.
At the edge of the forest she didnât even hesitate, but leaped over a fallen log and ran into its darkness, darting and dodging through the thick ranks of pine and aspen. Her heart beat harder and faster as she plunged deeper into the trees, and not just because of her swift-dog pace. There were dog-scents here, and lots of them.
Hopelessly confused and jumbled dog-scents.
Each time Sweet lowered her slender nose to catch a whiff of a dog and follow its trail, she would lose it, distracted and misled by other
A moment later, Sweet skidded to a brief halt to look back. Her Pack . . . they werenât following! They stood their ground against the longpaws, and panic flooded through Sweetâs belly. Raising her voice, she howled to them in dismay and grief .
Follow me! Follow me! Run with me nowâ
Her own broken howl jolted her out of sleep. Dazed, Sweet shook away the fuzziness of waking and hauled herself onto her forepaws. Her heart thrashed in her narrow chest and her fur was on end all over her body, but there were no longpaws here. No longpaws, no swift-dogs, no Pack . It had been a dream, that was all.
No, not a dream: a memory. A terrible memory.
Why? she thought miserably. Why do I always have to dream about the day I ran?
Slowly Sweet got to her paws, sniffing the strange air. The grass and earth were soft beneath her paw pads, and there was no metal wire caging her in, no walls to stop her from running. This meadow was so much better than the Trap House, yet it wasnât a truly wild place. All around her, Sweet could feel the work of longpaws. The trees stood in ordered ranks, like dogs lined up for a battle. The grass was clipped and smooth, and the glinting riverwas channeled under a stone bridge that had been built with long, hairless paws. The air itself made Sweetâs fur prickle.
It was a good enough place to sleep for one night, but it was no place for a wild swift-dog to liveâespecially a dog with no Pack. Remembering that she was alone now sent a shiver through Sweetâs bones. Sheâd move on at once, she thought, a whine of sadness rising in her throat.
She missed Lucky already. How could he have let her go? How could he want to be alone, in this new world of all worlds? The kind, smart, golden-furred dog sheâd met in the Trap House had insisted all along that he was a Lone Dog, but she hadnât quite believed himânot till heâd refused to come with her on her journey away from the destroyed city.
Sweet clenched her fangs in angry bewilderment. Luckyâs attitude was madness; it was something sheâd never understand, not till the day she went to the Earth-Dog. How could a dog not want to find a Pack? And Sweet knew she would find one: if not today, then tomorrow, or the next day. How could Lucky refuse to come with her to the forest? Ridiculous! There would be dogs there. There would be a Pack she could join to find new strength, a Pack she could help by adding her own strength to theirs. That was the way of dogs; it was what dogs were for !
A little tremor of fear went through her belly. Maybe she shouldnât even have paused to rest in this strange longpaw meadow. Perhaps any dogs who had left the city would have trekked too far by now; perhaps she would never catch up with them. The very thought made Sweet shiver.
No , she reassured herself. A Pack needed a camp, and once dogs found a safe place to make their territory, theyâd stay there. As long as her nose didnât let her down, sheâd find them; she was sure of it.
Sweet couldnât resist breaking into a steady, swift lope as she headed for the forest. Already she could smell it: the rich scent of pine needles and rotting leaves and damp, cool hollows. No clear dog-scents yet, but she was confident those would come. She had only to reach those dense trees that stretched for countless chases, and sheâd find a Pack.
She had to find a Pack.
At the edge of the forest she didnât even hesitate, but leaped over a fallen log and ran into its darkness, darting and dodging through the thick ranks of pine and aspen. Her heart beat harder and faster as she plunged deeper into the trees, and not just because of her swift-dog pace. There were dog-scents here, and lots of them.
Hopelessly confused and jumbled dog-scents.
Each time Sweet lowered her slender nose to catch a whiff of a dog and follow its trail, she would lose it, distracted and misled by other
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