“No!” she barked, and Bruno stopped in his tracks. “No dog chases the bird!” She turned to each Leashed Dog, giving them a stern look. “That goes for all of you. Don’t you remember how the yellow-furred longpaws treated Daisy? They are not friendly. I’d never trust a longpaw that covers its face, much less one that chooses to live inside the belly of a loudbird!”

Alpha growled his agreement and Bruno dropped guiltily to the ground, his tail pressed to his flank. Sunshine crouched beside him.

Lucky stood by, his ears pricked. The shiny bird disappeared beyond the pine trees. Eventually its whirring drone became quieter. The branches of the pine trees went on swaying but their trunks grew still. Lucky craned his neck, his body frozen. He could hear the crunch of the longpaws as they ambled heavily over twigs and leaves. Their harsh barks sounded sinister in the silence that followed the bird’s descent. Lucky’s ears flattened and his stomach clenched.

After a short while, the terrible thrumming began again. The Pack waited tensely, low to the ground. They watched, wide-eyed, as the loudbird rose from the forest floor and swept away beyond a bank of tall trees.

Lucky rose to his paws, his ears pricked and his tail straight behind him. What can this mean? he wondered. What are the longpaws up to?

Lucky wandered along the edges of the camp, feeling a shiver of loneliness as he looked beyond the rushing water to the thistles on the river’s far bank. He shook the feeling away. He had work to do before nightfall—Omega work, gathering bedding for the shelter. He used his snout to shuffle some dried leaves and twigs into a pile, then scooped them up in his jaws and made for the cave. He dropped them at the entrance by the overhanging brambles and retraced his steps to the riverbank. He padded around, sniffing until he found a nice, damp clump of moss. He began digging it up with his paws—it came up easily enough into a wet pile. Once the moss dried out, it would make a comfortable bed to sleep on.

A prouder dog would have said these tasks were beneath him, and even Lucky found himself fighting the impulse to dip his head in shame when he passed Dart and Daisy on patrol.

He trudged back to the shelter with a mouthful of moss. Whine appeared from behind a tangle of nettles, his long tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. “You dropped some, Omega.”

Lucky’s neck snapped around and he glared at the little dog.