Two high voices seemed to echo through his mind. “No, Fuzz, no!”

With a last surge of energy, Lucky struggled to his feet, swaying. The world whirled around him.

What was that? Among the trees!

Oh, he was imagining things now. His head wound must have flung him into a dream. He couldn’t help Moon from a dream.

Lucky blinked blood furiously from his eyes, staggering. No, there were forest-shadows. He couldn’t have imagined them.

There. Big ghosts in the woods, sleek and strong ghosts: not moving, just watching. Two great black-and-tan Fierce Dogs, still as stone, eyes burning. Dogs! Why don’t they help us? Why don’t they move? One of the dogs turned its head away. The other raised a paw, as if it might finally step out of the shadows. Lucky stumbled forward, then jerked his head up again. No. Lucky, you fool! There were no dogs; it was a dream. There were no shadows in the trees. . . .

Get away, dream dogs. This was what was real, this turmoil of blood and struggle and fear. Moon was defending her pups to the death, and he had to get to her.

He staggered forward. Two of them, and the helpless pups. Him and Moon, and six savage foxes.

If I have to die, I’ll take the Earth-Dog a gift—of foxes. Lucky opened his jaws in a howl of defiance and sprang.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

As the leader fox turned on him with bared fangs, Lucky snarled his furious challenge.

“I won’t go easily,” he warned them. “If you try to kill me, I’ll take you with . . .” But before he could finish, a blow knocked him sideways into the grass. Lucky yelped in shock, shaking his head violently.

Not a fox. A great brown shape hurtled past him, all muscle and fury and slavering jaws. Fiery!

Fiery landed among the foxes like a great falling tree, sending them yelping and flying onto their backs. Seizing a straggler, he flung it aside and lunged at another. Lucky, still woozy from the blow to his head, felt his heart swell with new courage. Struggling back to his paws, he plunged in alongside Fiery, fighting the foxes fiercely. He let loose a volley of barks, hoping it would alert some of the other dogs who still battled among themselves at the other side of the clearing, oblivious to the foxes’ treachery.

Only two of them must have heard, but they came racing at once—Mulch, his black ears flying, and Daisy, a small ball of teeth and fierceness.

“Help Moon!” Lucky had time to yelp before he was attacked once more, a fox darting in to sink its sharp teeth into his hind leg.

The pain was like a scorch of flame, but it finally cleared his head. Lucky snarled and bit, tossing the fox away.

From the corner of his eye he saw another fox slash viciously at Daisy, its claw slicing a line of blood across her muzzle. But she rallied, her eyes flashing; she sank her sharp little teeth deep into its throat, hanging on fiercely until it stopped moving.