Lucky gave an agreeing whine. “They’re crying with hunger.” His chest tightened with pity. For a moment he recalled his own Mother-Dog’s sweet, silky fur, and the huddle of his littermates as they gathered around him. “And grief,” he added softly, remembering the howls of pain he had heard when passing the Dog-Garden on his way to the city.

His ears drooped guiltily. Had the howls come from their Mother-Dog?

I did nothing to help her. . . .

Mickey nudged Lucky’s face. “What if the other Fierce Dogs killed her?”

“Why would they do that?” Lucky asked, although he had already suspected the same thing.

Mickey looked out into the long grass. “I don’t know. But then, why would they abandon the pups?”

Lucky had to agree—nothing the Fierce Dogs did made much sense. “I don’t know, Mickey. But we have to go and talk to them, to make sure they’re not in serious trouble.”

Mickey nodded. “Okay, Lucky. You’re right; we can’t just leave them. But let’s agree that if they’re in trouble we will help them as quickly as we can, or take them with us if we have to. We don’t want to hang around for the others to return.”

“Of course,” said Lucky. He stalked back along the edge of the porch with Mickey close behind him. As he turned the corner he saw the puppies huddled together. Their floppy ears pricked up, alert.

“I smell something!” yipped one of the pups, gnashing his small white teeth. The others whipped their heads around. Spotting Lucky and Mickey, they started barking in high-pitched voices.

“Who are you? Go away!” yapped one.

“Our Pack will be back soon!” added another.

Mickey gave Lucky a worried look. “What if he’s right?” he whined. “We don’t want them to find us here.”

“It’s okay,” Lucky told him. “The pup is bluffing. I don’t think anyone else is here.” Lucky studied the young dogs. He noticed that they had short, thin tails, unlike the adult Fierce Dogs, who only had stumps where their tails should be.

Mickey whimpered. “Maybe we’re wrong to think we can help them.”

Lucky was watching the pups, his head cocked. “Can’t you see that they’re frightened? We have to help them.” He took a cautious step toward the pups, who gave off a series of fearful cries, snarls, and high-pitched squawks. Lucky spotted two bowls in front of their soft-hide. One had a puddle of water at its bottom; the other held a few crumbs of dried meat. Lucky dimly remembered that pups weren’t supposed to go more than a few hours without food. They were probably starving.

He crouched in front of the pups, his posture low and unthreatening.

“My name is Lucky. My friend’s name is Mickey. We want to help you. What are your names?”