A Pack Divided (2 page)

Pausing as she stepped out of
the forest's shade, Storm took a moment to stretch her paws and her back, and to claw the ground blissfully in the rays of the morning Sun-Dog. His light shone warm on her sleek fur and, in the rippling grass around her, he kindled rich scents of rabbits, mice, and squirrels. Storm sniffed appreciatively at the soft breeze. There were good prospects for their hunting patrol.

Storm felt full of optimism on this glittering New Leaf day. It was her first chance to be in charge of a hunt, and she was proud that her Pack Beta, Lucky, had shown such faith in her.
He always has,
she thought gratefully. She owed so much to the golden-furred Beta who had once been a Lone Dog.

She glanced over her shoulder at the team she was leading.
Some of the Pack's best dogs,
she thought with pride. Snap, who had
long been part of Sweet's Pack, had always been a fine hunter, and Mickey, despite his Leashed Dog origins, had learned to track down prey with the best of the Wild Dogs. Arrow the Fierce Dog had been one of Blade's Pack, and his focus, discipline, and deadly accuracy were invaluable assets. And Whisper, who had been one of the mad dog Terror's underlings . . . well, he was extra keen to please his leaders and prove his worth, now that he wasn't cowed by Terror's horrible threats.

They were an unlikely combination, but that was what made Storm happiest. Before her own birth, the Earth-Dog had shaken in the Big Growl. If that had never happened, the Packs represented in her hunting party would never have come together as one. After all, Mickey and Snap had come from very different circumstances—Snap from Sweet's Pack, which had once been the half wolf's Pack; and Mickey from his home with longpaws—but that was before the Big Growl had destroyed the city, changed the world, and forced every dog to fend for himself. Now they all worked together despite their differences, all of them bringing their own strengths and skills to their new, united Pack.

Storm had never quite understood why Lucky was always barking back to the Big Growl. Yet now that she had lived through a great battle—the one they called the Storm of Dogs—she saw
clearly why the disaster of the Growl meant so much to him. When a dog had lived through such a world-changing shock, it did affect everything: the world beneath her paws, the scents in her nostrils, each sound that reached her pricked ears. Everything held new significance—and not just potential threat and unexpected danger, but fresh possibilities, too.

Prey had been thin and hard to catch throughout the long Ice Wind season, but now buds were popping into life on the trees, small leaves grew thick on the bushes and shrubs, and the meadows were green with new life. Storm was determined that today's hunt would be swift and successful. “Try that hollow, Storm.” Mickey's kind voice was in her pricked ear, and it set her fangs instantly on edge. He and Snap had been trying to advise and guide her all morning, when it was Storm herself who needed to make the decisions. Couldn't Mickey understand that?

“There, see?” the black-and-white Farm Dog went on, oblivious as Storm ground her jaws in frustration. “The hollow beyond the hill.” He nodded in the direction of the far side of the shallow valley, toward a dip in the grassy ground circled by young birch saplings.

“Yes, that might be worth a try,” Storm managed to growl.

“We can surround it easily and drive out the prey,” Mickey
went on. “The creek runs close to it, and there's a rabbit warren there.”

“I know that, Mickey,” said Storm sharply.

Mickey pricked his ears in surprise, then licked his jaws. “Did I say something wrong, Storm?”

“It's just that—” Noticing the slight hurt on his face, she softened, and gave her old friend a lick. “Sorry, Mickey. I'm just a bit preoccupied.”

He was only trying to be helpful, after all—and Mickey, along with Lucky, had been one of the dogs who had rescued her and her two littermates when they were helpless, abandoned pups. He'd always looked out for her.

But I want to be able to prove
myself.
If they'll let me . . .

Snap was the next to trot over and push her narrow snout in. “I'm not sure about those high trees, Storm.” Her head tilted as she stared at the horizon. “Rabbits could duck around them, and we'd be blocked at several points.”

Storm somehow managed to hold on to her temper, though the urge simply to run and hunt was growing unbearable. Her paw pads ached, as if she'd been walking over rough stone, and she wanted to be moving now, not standing still. She could already see distant tawny flashes through the grass. The unwary creatures
weren't alarmed—yet—but the dogs would have to move quickly once they were nearer to the warren.

“I think we can cope with the trees, Snap,” Storm told her in a low voice. “Let's head toward the hollow, but keep our noses sharp for other prey on the way. We can't rely on catching enough rabbits for every dog.”

She reminded herself sternly that Snap and Mickey were her seniors in the Pack hierarchy.
Though I wish they didn't treat me as if I'm still that vulnerable pup Mickey and Lucky rescued.
She gave a silent inward sigh, then nodded at her patrol.

“I want to plan ahead of time, so that we don't have to make a sound later. Arrow and Snap, when we're closer to the warren, you circle around toward the creek. If the rest of us take points between the warren and the wider plain, the rabbits will have nowhere to go. We should manage to take two or three. Stay low, and remember to watch for other prey.” With a nod that Storm hoped showed both respect and quiet authority, she led the patrol carefully toward the line of aspens on the horizon.

All the dogs were alert now, placing their paw pads with care and keeping their bodies low, but Whisper slipped past the others to stalk at Storm's side. She gave the young dog an inquisitive glance.

“I think this is a brilliant strategy, Storm,” said Whisper, in a low but enthusiastic growl. “You're a great hunt leader!”

“Thanks, Whisper,” Storm told him, pricking her ears in slight surprise. “I'd really like to lead the hunt more often, so let's hope this goes well.”

“Oh, I'm sure it will. So what else do you think we'll find? Maybe a deer!”

Storm gave a huffing sound of amusement, and shook her head briefly. “I doubt we'll be that lucky, but let's stay alert.”

“You always do,” said Whisper. There was a light of adoration in the gray dog's eyes, and Storm looked away, trying to keep her focus on the careful stalk-and-slink of the hunt.

A ripple of unease traveled between her fur and her skin. Whisper had treated her with something close to hero-worship ever since Storm had killed Blade, the Fierce Dogs' vicious leader, in the great battle last Ice Wind. Storm had had to do it—and she'd been glad to do it, after all that Blade had done to her litter-siblings and to her Packmates—but the days of battle were over. She was a hunter now.

She hoped Whisper wouldn't always be bringing up the dreadful Storm of Dogs, and Storm's role in it. They had a new life to look forward to now, and Storm was determined to play
her part in making it one of peace and plenty for the Pack. It had taken her so much time and effort to live down her reputation as a savage Fierce Dog, a struggle made far harder by the hostility of their old half-wolf leader, Alpha. She didn't want to have to go through all of that again.

Storm raised her muzzle to test the wind direction, pausing with one paw lifted.

Forest-Dog, if you'll listen to me as you listen to Lucky, grant us good New-Leaf prey today!

Her optimism returned as she leaped easily over a small tributary of the stream, enjoying the sleek movement of her muscles and the springiness of the earth beneath her paws. Every sense in her body felt awake after the long, hard Ice Wind, and a slight flash of movement at the corner of her eye sent her twisting in pursuit almost without a thought.

The squirrel shot up the trunk of a tree, panicked, but Storm's snapping jaws found their target. Crunching down, she felt the brittle bones of its body through the scrawny flesh.
Skinny,
she thought,
even for a squirrel. Ice Wind has been hard for every creature.

Her swift kill, she realized, had served as a signal to the others: the hunters bolted into the chase. Arrow sprinted across a dry streambed, sniffing and searching without luck, but Mickey and
Snap began to work together at the foot of a gnarled oak, digging in showers of earth until their paws and muzzles were filthy. Just as Storm bounded to join them, they unearthed a nest of mice. As the tiny creatures skittered in panic, blinded by the light, the two hunters pounced and bit and snapped till they'd created a pile of tiny corpses.

“They're barely a mouthful each,” said Snap, pawing at them.

“Every mouthful feeds the Pack,” Storm reminded her, pleased. “Well done!”

Her praise, though, seemed to fly straight above Snap's head. The tan-and-white dog pressed her head to Mickey's, and for a moment the two successful hunters rested, panting, rubbing their muzzles affectionately together and licking each other's dirty ears. With a surprised prick of her own ears, Storm took a few paces backward.

Is this really the moment for snuggling up to your mate?
she thought with a shiver of puzzled distaste.
What a silly waste of time. It's only a couple of mice, for the Sky-Dogs' sake.

Turning her rump on them, she snatched up her squirrel and dropped it into the hole Mickey and Snap had dug out at the base of the oak. It was as good a place as any to store their prey till they'd finished their hunt: a deep gap between two thick roots. As
she raised her head, a light, warm breeze moved through the trees, bringing with it that tantalizing scent of rabbit. Storm shook off her moment of discomfort.
We're downwind of the prey—this is a good beginning!

Excitement rose in her once again, and she gave a low commanding growl to summon the others. She felt a spark of pride, swelling to a warm glow, when they answered her call at once. The four dogs fell in at her flanks and followed her lead as she prowled forward, closer and closer to the shallow bowl of land.

The rabbits must be hungry after the long cold, Storm realized: they had still not noticed the patrol's approach. They were too busy browsing and tearing at the new grass with their blunt little teeth.
We should be able to cut them off from their burrows
, thought Storm,
if we all play our part.
Her heart beat fast in her rib cage with anticipation.

Lowering her sleek body still closer to the earth, she crept forward, nodding to the others. They were all in place, just as she'd directed them; again she felt that frisson of satisfaction in her leadership. When she finally sprang, hurtling into the hollow, every nerve in her body sang with the joy of hunting, with the certainty of her own speed and strength and skill. She felt her blood racing, the flex and stretch of each muscle as she dived and
dodged and leaped in pursuit of the terrified rabbits. It was like pure energy and fire running through her.
Is this how Lightning of the Sky-Dogs feels?

And it was working just as it should. White bobtails flickered all around the hollow, and the panicked creatures were scattering straight into the jaws of the waiting hunters. Mickey's powerful teeth clamped down on one of them, and he shook it violently as another doubled back and fled from him—straight into the jaws of Storm. Panting, Storm flung down its limp corpse, then took a moment to watch as Whisper drove the fattest rabbit of all toward the waiting Arrow.

Arrow was loping along on exactly the right line, and Storm could see he would intercept the fleeing rabbit with ease. So she was stunned to see Whisper's head flick to the side. Mid-stride, he veered away slightly and herded the rabbit in a different direction, toward Snap.

But Snap wasn't watching; she was too busy chasing down a dark-furred rabbit of her own. Whisper's rabbit crossed her field of vision just as she was about to pounce on hers, and Snap's pace faltered in surprise and confusion.

Arrow was racing furiously after the rabbit now, but the abrupt change of tactics had spoiled his line and his focus. Both rabbits,
the dark-furred one and the lighter one Whisper had been driving, bolted straight between Arrow and Snap, and vanished into their burrows with a flash of two white tails.

Storm raced toward them, but she knew she was already too late. Skidding to a halt in a flurry of sandy earth, she stared at the dark burrow entrances, swamped by frustration and anger. Behind her, Arrow and Snap had drawn up too, snapping their drooling, empty jaws.

As Whisper bounded to a faltering, shamed halt between them, Storm turned on him.

“Why did you do that?” she barked furiously. “We lost two good rabbits!”
And more
, she realized. In the confusion of Whisper's mangled hunting attempt, several other rabbits had reached the safety of their warren.