“When you’re older, you’ll get your real names, but you should have pup names for now. . . .” He turned to the smaller male, remembering how the little dog’s rump had moved back and forth with happiness when Lucky had fed him a chunk of vole. “I think we’ll call you ‘Wiggle.’”

The pup responded by turning a tight circle, tottering on tiny legs. “Wiggle!” he echoed.

Lucky turned to the plucky female. “And you . . .”

Mickey piped up. “How about ‘Lick’?”

“Yes, that’s a good name,” Lucky agreed.

The female’s short black tail thrashed as she raised her muzzle to lick Mickey’s nose. I think she likes her new name, Lucky thought happily.

He turned to the larger male. “As for you . . .”

The pup glared back challengingly, suspicious and guarded once more. “I don’t need a ‘pup name,’” he grunted.

Lucky thought for a moment. “We’ll call you ‘Grunt.’ Yes, that’s perfect.”

Mickey barked his agreement and the other pups yelped happily, but the larger pup stayed still, his expression blank.

Lucky felt an odd sense of relief at having named the pups. He had come to care for them, even in this short time. It hadn’t felt right when they were nameless. They were Lucky’s responsibility now. He had rescued them because it had seemed like the right thing to do, to bring them back to the Wild Pack, but now . . .

Now I care.

With this contented thought, Lucky settled down near the three pups, back-to-back with Mickey.

Lick and Grunt slept soundly but Wiggle was shifting and fidgeting. Lucky leaned over and licked his ears.

The pup gazed up at him. “I can’t sleep,” he whimpered.

Lucky’s heart twisted with pity. He thought of his days in the Pup-Pack. When he couldn’t sleep, his Mother-Dog had drawn him close and he’d relaxed against the beat of her heart.

“Rest your head on my chest,” Lucky murmured.

Wiggle shuffled close to him, burying his small dark head against Lucky. In moments he was breathing deeply, his eyes shut and his lips parted. Lucky closed his eyes too, but his ears stayed alert, listening to the sounds of the forest.

A howl echoed in the distance. Instantly Lucky sprang to his paws, eyes wide as he sniffed the cool night air. The pups yipped in alarm and Lucky was quick to silence them.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Whatever made that noise is far away. But we need to be very quiet and not draw its attention.”

“What is it?” Mickey asked. Lucky could just make out the Farm Dog’s shape in the darkness.

“I’m not sure,” Lucky told him. “It sounded like a dog, but not quite . . .”

Mickey gave a nervous whine. “A wolf?” he asked.

Lucky had heard wolves before, and he shuddered at the memory. “I hope not.”