Sweet nuzzled him. “Why don’t you come with me, Lucky? Come and meet my Pack. You’ll like us. You’ve just saved my life, so they’ll like you.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Lucky, you can’t survive on your own. What if the next Growl catches you, and there’s no one to help you like you helped me? And so many of the streams are poisoned! You might not find clean water to drink. You must come with me!”

A shiver went through Lucky’s fur, and he gave himself a brisk shake to disguise it. “I’m sorry, Sweet. I’m still a Lone Dog.”

“All dogs should stand together at times like these,” said Sweet, her nose turning up. “You’re strong, you’re clever—you should offer all that to a Pack, not keep it for yourself!” Sweet sounded almost angry, but her voice softened. “You’d be happy, Lucky. I promise.”

Lucky averted his gaze, feeling the old stubbornness back in his belly. “I’m happier on my own.”

Sweet dipped her head. “I can’t make you change your mind, can I? Then I wish you well. Please take care.”

“I will.” Lucky padded away, still feeling the tug of regret and unable to resist a last look back.

Sweet was already bounding across the broken ground, elegantly leaping over fallen trees. A memory struck him sharply: Sweet bolting from the cold room in the Food House, terrified by the dead longpaw inside, and the destruction of the city outside. Her speed was the same, but in every other way she seemed different. Her head was high and her ears were pricked. Her coat was sleek and the muscles beneath were strong and defined.

Lucky felt the strongest urge to bark after her, to call her back and ask if she’d come with him instead. She’d be a great addition to Bella’s Pack. And what if he never saw her again? He was going to miss her. . . .

But it was too late. Sweet was already out of sight, and Lucky would never catch her now. There was nothing left to do but continue his search for the Leashed Dogs.

As he padded on, he felt flutters of fear in his fur. They’ll be all right, he told himself. They’ve survived one Growl already. Surely they’ll have survived this one, too. . . .

CHAPTER THREE

It wasn’t difficult to follow the trail of Bella and the others farther into the shattered valley. All Lucky had to do was pad after the trickles and pools of blood that Alfie and Martha had left. The metallic scent of it made his bones and muscles cold; a terrible anxiety drove him on to leap cracks in the ground and force his way through thickets of fallen branches.

At least, he thought, the valley would recover swiftly. Saplings would grow again to replace the trees, and the cracked ground and uprooted bushes would soon be covered with new moss and grass and plants, hiding the damage.