“I don’t think so,” she whined. “If I start to climb and lose my grip, I’ll—”

“I’ll help you. You have to try!”

Slowly, cautiously, Sweet got to her feet and turned in a tight circle, as if she were preparing for sleep. Her tail was tucked tightly between her legs, and her sleek coat seemed to tremble with fear. Hesitantly she rose up on her hind legs and caught the edge with her claws.

“Now kick with your hind legs. And pull! You’ll be fine, Sweet—just pull—”

Gradually Sweet hauled herself up the sheer rock, hindpaws flailing. With a whine of terror she started to slip, but Lucky leaned into the crack to seize the scruff of her neck with his teeth, praying to the Earth-Dog that the crumbling stone would hold him. He could no longer encourage Sweet with his barks; he could only drag her upward, feeling her wriggle and thrash in his jaws.

Behind him, he heard a sound he recognized all too well. A violent, ominous creaking. With a desperate growl, Lucky scuffed backward, tugging Sweet hard as the swift-dog gave a final powerful kick with her hind legs. She was up and over the edge, and Lucky shouldered her sideways just as a wounded tree groaned and toppled, slamming into the ground with a crash.

They stood, panting with exhaustion and relief. Lucky blinked and gasped until he got his breath back, his heart hammering away at his belly.

Then they both yelped with joy, colliding as they sprang forward, tumbling over each other, licking and nosing and barking with delight.

“That’s the second Big Growl we’ve outwitted!” said Lucky.

“Yes! Oh, Lucky, you are lucky!” Sweet barked.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again!”

“I didn’t think I’d see you, Packless Dog!” She nibbled his neck fur happily.

“Sweet . . .” Lucky drew away slightly, remembering the moment he’d laid eyes on her again—when he hadn’t even recognized such a fierce, feral dog. “Why was your Pack attacking . . . those dogs?”

Sweet gave a yelp of derision. “Those what? They’re barely dogs at all. Did you get a good look at them? How dare those disorganized mutts think of invading our territory?”

“That’s—sort of what I mean.” Lucky averted his eyes, licking his chops. “They didn’t know how to fight, I could tell. Your Pack was”—cruelly efficient, he wanted to say—“harsh to them.”

Lucky bit back a whine as he wondered why he’d pretended not to know his friends.

Am I ashamed of them?

“Leashed Dogs,” snarled Sweet. “I don’t know what they were doing here, but they certainly won’t be invading real dogs’ territory again. They’ll know better than that now.”

I used to worry about her, he remembered. I worried that she wouldn’t be tough enough to survive. Can this really be the same swift-dog who panicked at the sight of a dead longpaw?

Catching Lucky’s shocked expression, Sweet jabbed her head forward insistently. “It was a necessary lesson. The Leashed Dogs won’t make that mistake again. That’s best for them as well as us.”