Sweet's Journey by Erin Hunter Page B

trails that overlaid it. She would follow the stronger scent, only to lose it again among other scent-markers. Many dogs had passed through the forest—perhaps too many, she realized with a quiver of panic. How would she ever find and follow a clear trail in this maze of smells?
    The whole world was tangled and turned upside down, that was the problem. But as soon as she thought that, Sweet felt oddly reassured. The Big Growl had turned the world into a place of madness and confusion, and of course things would not be as easy as they’d once been. What mattered, she told herself confidently, was that there were dogs . At any moment she’d find a strong trail and follow it, and she’d find a new Pack that needed her contribution. And as soon as she had a Pack, the craziness of the world wouldn’t matter. Pack was everything.
    There were other scents to distract her, Sweet realized as she paused to sniff at a pine’s exposed roots. Smaller, darker, sharper trails, made by scurrying prey. Her empty belly rumbled, and hunger nipped at her.
    I’ll think better with a full belly .
    Making her decision, she reluctantly abandoned the dog-scents for the moment and began to nose her way along one of the stronger prey-trails. Slowing, placing her paws with care, she scanned the undergrowth, her ears pricked forward. Be silent, Sweet. You’re hunting alone . . . for now. . . .
    There! A movement in the undergrowth. A vole; Sweet caught a glimpse of its russet back and its short tail. It saw her, and darted for the shelter of the forest litter, but Sweet was fast, and she was hungry. She shot forward and snatched it up in her jaws, crunching and gulping it down, bones, tail and all.
    It was small, she thought as she licked her jaws, but big enough to take the edge off her hunger.
    A new sense of urgency drove her on now, her trotting stride rapid, and she hadn’t gone many rabbit-chases before she broke once more into a loping run. Her nose searched every hint of breeze, every stir of the dank forest air, and her heart clenched tight. What if I never find those dogs?
    The scent hit her quite suddenly, filling her nostrils, and she came to a halt, head raised.
    It was a scent she recognized from earlier in the day, but it seemed clearer and stronger now; perhaps it was just that she had had the sense to fill her belly. Sweet focused hard on the messagesit brought her, and she drew in a sudden, hopeful breath.
    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