Lucky turned and scrambled in the opposite direction. He would have to find another path across the river.

He climbed a hill, his fur rising again. His tail stiffened and his ears pricked up instinctively. He felt as though he could almost smell something. Something familiar. Something dangerous . . .

He cursed the black flakes for masking all other scents beneath their powerful stench. Creeping farther up the slope, Lucky’s location struck him. In a rush of smells, of sight and memories, he recognized the hill and the valley below. Fear shuddered along his spine. He was very close to the Fierce Dogs’ lair, he realized—much closer than he would have liked. He remembered the brutal army of dogs with their thick, muscular bodies, their pointed ears, and their shiny black coats. He had hidden from them in their eerie Dog-Garden, watching them patrol their territory, and though he had outwitted the Fierce Dogs and escaped, he never wanted to face those dogs again. A tremor of panic ran through his belly and Lucky froze.

In the distance he heard barking, deep and foreboding. He lowered his muzzle and sniffed, trying to blank out the foul ash. Then he caught it: the tang of blood.

It took everything he had to ignore the impulse to run away. He needed to find out what was happening here. He couldn’t just run. Lucky threw a cautious look over his back. What if the Fierce Dogs had found the hole in the fence that had allowed him to escape? What if they ran patrols around their territory as far as the forested hills? Were some of them out there now in the gloom, watching him?

A piercing howl broke from the valley below and Lucky whined with fright. Careful to stay upwind, Lucky stalked closer to the Fierce Dogs’ lair, hoping that the smell of ash would conceal his approach.

It took a few minutes to reach the wall of the Dog-Garden and in that time the noises had hushed. Then he heard it again, much closer, on the far side of the wall. They were the desperate howls of a dog in pain, whimpering, begging for mercy. Lucky knew that he should keep his distance—how dangerous would a wounded Fierce Dog be?

Lucky crept along the wall, his ears pricked. He picked up the smell of other dogs in the yard. Those dogs surely knew about their Packmate. They either didn’t care, or had intended the dog to be harmed. Either way, they would hardly take kindly to Lucky’s appearance.

A twig snapped and Lucky caught the shadow of a Fierce Dog several long-strides away. A huge, stocky male, with a thick neck and a pointed snout, it sniffed at the ground and cast its head left and right.

It’s outside the fence! So the Fierce Dogs had found a way through after all. Was this Fierce Dog looking for prey, or intruders?