Lucky held his breath. Run! Before he sees you and raises the alarm!

There was nothing to be done for the wounded dog, he told himself firmly. He backed away as silently as he could and retraced his steps through the forest, careful not to crunch any leaves beneath his paws on his ascent. Only a foolish dog would hang around and wait to be discovered. If they caught his scent, the Fierce Dogs would surely rip him apart.

Keep running to the city. It’s Mickey you should be helping. He’s the one whose life can still be saved.

Another yelp of anguish rose from the Fierce Dogs’ lair. As Lucky hurried back up the hill toward the city, he felt a pang of guilt. A vague memory returned to him from puppyhood. His Mother-Dog had been talking about the difference between wolves and dogs. Wolves were cunning and sneaky. Dogs were noble. Dogs did not leave another dog to die.

I’m sorry, Forest-Dog. I want to help but I can’t. . . . Please look after the Fierce Dog.

He’d never expected the world to bring him to this.

Lucky shook his fur vigorously. He’d walked through no-sun and had crossed the river at its shallowest point. The River-Dog had eased the soreness in his neck and leg where the foxes had bitten him, washing away the pain with firm strokes of his icy tongue. The cool water had shocked Lucky’s tired muscles and given him new energy and strength. He did not want to stop now—he had to keep going until he reached the city. Mickey might be there already. Lucky pictured him slowly starving to death but refusing to leave, waiting for longpaws who would never return.

The journey had been tiring, full of dips and inclines where the tall trees clung to the ground. Finally Lucky reached the highest point in the forest. He stopped and looked around. The Sun-Dog trod his path over the land, casting a gentle morning light. White clouds twisted in the sky and the air was damp and clean.

Almost hidden in the distance beyond the soft borders of treetops was the shimmering lake. The nearer end of the lake was in the Wild Pack’s abandoned territory. On its far side, by a collection of craggy rocks, were the friends he had left behind. He thought of Bella, his litter-sister, and the other Leashed Dogs. He wondered how they were faring in the larger Pack, and hoped that Alpha wasn’t being too hard on them. Then he pictured Sweet with her large dark eyes. His belly clenched as he thought of her, remembering that look of betrayal. . . .