No, he told himself. This is how it was always meant to be—me, by myself, without a Pack to slow me down. A true Lone Dog.

With a whimper, Lucky climbed the path to the high trees, knowing those thoughts didn’t ring true anymore.

He was not a Lone Dog now. Not really.

He was an outcast.

CHAPTER FIVE

It was sun-high before Lucky reentered the forest. Tall trees loomed overhead, the breeze fanning their branches. There was a gentle rise to the land as the forest climbed beyond the bank of the lake. He could hear the patter of paws in the undergrowth, and birds chirping above him. His stomach churned with hunger. He knew he could never catch a bird. The small animals that lived on the forest floor would also be too quick for him, invisible through the camouflage of leaves and vines. He would have to wait until he was out in the open air with a chance of gathering some speed.

Forest-Dog, please send me the cunning to find something to eat, and the wisdom to find a safe passage to . . .

Lucky gave a whine as he asked himself: A safe passage to where? I have nowhere to go.

He had run away from the other dogs without really thinking of where he was headed. He had tried to tell himself that he was meant to be a Lone Dog—but now he realized that being a Lone Dog in the forest was nothing like being a Lone Dog in the city. In the city, a Lone Dog had choices—there were always places to shelter, and the longpaws never stopped filling metal boxes with their discarded food. Here in the forest, things were very different. The only shelter was trees, and there were no food-boxes anywhere.

In the city, a Lone Dog could wander in circles and survive—but that wasn’t possible in the forest. Lucky’s fur prickled with rage and dread as he realized he had nowhere to go.

He plunged deeper into the forest, padding between the trees and catching the scent and sound of water. He used his head to clear a gap in some undergrowth and emerged at the bank of the river that the Leashed Pack had crossed to get to the Wild Pack’s territory. Taking a step closer, Lucky breathed in the damp air. It was sweet and earthy and he detected none of the slimy green sludge that had made Bruno sick. He gazed at the river, briefly tapping it with his nose. It was cool and clear. Silver fish darted deep within the current, tempting but out of reach.

Satisfied that the water was clean, Lucky lapped at it thirstily. Once he had drunk his fill, he sat at the side of the bank and licked his paws, thinking things through.