Bella gave a bark of approval.

To Lucky it sounded more like Leashed Dog logic—Why would the River-Dog want anything to play with, as if he needed a longpaw owner to entertain him?—but if it would make the others feel better, maybe it was worth a try. And perhaps the good intentions behind the gift would win over the River-Dog. Surely he would at least be pleased with the Pack’s efforts.

Mickey was already bounding between the remaining trees, sniffing out fallen branches and twigs. The others darted to join him, nosing in the tangled foliage, clearly relieved to have something positive to do. Their excitement was infectious, and Lucky found his hopes rising as he too searched for a fine fetching-stick. It was nice to be moving toward something, rather than running away.

“How about this one?” grunted Bruno through a mouthful of birch branch.

They all stopped their searching to examine Bruno’s find. It was a beautifully shaped stick, smooth and sturdy but bent just enough in the middle to give the best jaw-hold. When they brought it to her, Martha tilted her head, sniffing at the papery silver bark.

“It’s beautiful,” she announced at last. “I think the River-Dog will like it very much.”

They were all yelping and whining with eagerness as they trotted to the riverbank, Martha limping slowly in front carrying the special stick, and Bruno padding beside her, his head proudly held high.

At the crumbling bank, Martha lowered herself onto her forepaws and gently released the gift. The whole Pack helped her nose it into the stream without touching the water. It caught on a tuft of grass but, with a last nudge, it came free and floated off into the deeper water, swirling in the lazy current.

“River-Dog!” whined Martha. “Please help us. We need clean water to drink.”

The rest of the Pack yelped in agreement, watching as the stick slid smoothly between rocks and into a fast-flowing channel of white water. It bounced and tumbled in the rushing current, and Sunshine yelped with delight.

“The River-Dog’s playing with the stick! See? He really is!”

The dogs panted happily, watching the stick drift downstream into calmer water, creating eddies of rainbow in the filmy green surface. Then it spun out of sight.

Martha’s ears drooped. “Poor River-Dog,” she said softly. “He must hate that his rivers are poisoned like this. Perhaps he’s unwell himself.”

“Let’s just hope he likes our offering,” said Bella, nuzzling her neck. “We’ve done all we can for now. We’ll find out soon enough if there’s any change.”

Lucky caught his litter-sister’s eye as they turned and padded back toward their camp. There was anxiety in Bella’s expression. She’s no more certain of this than I am, he thought.

But at least Bella was keeping the Pack’s spirits up, and it made Lucky happy to watch them turning their ritual circles and sending their thoughts to the Sky-Dogs. He felt a little more optimistic as he settled to sleep himself, his head against his litter-sister’s warm flank.