Lucky sniffed again, catching something flinty in the soil. The fur prickled along his neck and he swallowed. “There is something weird about it, although I can’t figure out what it is.” He looked around. The shadows were lengthening between the trees. “Still, food is food, and soon it’ll be too dark to see.”

A bird trilled overhead and Bruno’s body stiffened. Lucky started padding between the trees again, hearing Bruno hurrying after him. They edged around a tangle of brambles and up a little ridge, where Lucky caught the warm, sweet scent of small animals. He looked to Bruno, who gave a sharp nod—he had smelled it too.

As one, the dogs lowered their haunches and stalked low to the ground. They eased themselves over a clutch of vines past the broken trunk of a fallen tree. The scent of the animals grew stronger.

Birds . . . but don’t they all nest in branches? Why are they grouping together on the forest floor?

Lucky paused. “They aren’t moving. Maybe they’re hurt, or . . .” He sniffed again. Now he sensed it—the death scent. A prickle of fear caught the back of his neck, but Bruno had already pushed on ahead of him, hurrying around the fallen trunk with an excited yip.

“Pigeons! Two of them!”

Lucky approached more warily. The gray-feathered birds were limp, their small eyes glinting, their beaks slightly parted. Lucky held back, watching the darkening woods and listening for movement. “They only died a short time ago. . . .”

“That means they’re fresh,” said Bruno, licking his chops.

Lucky gave an uneasy whimper. “It also means that whoever killed them could still be close.”

“I don’t smell anyone,” said Bruno with a dismissive wag of the tail. “Come on, let’s get them back to camp.”

Lucky could not smell anyone either, but he stood warily, reluctant to touch the dead birds. He could feel the fur on his spine standing up. “I don’t know, Bruno . . . I don’t feel right about this. Whoever killed these birds will be back for them—and they will probably be back very soon. They could track us back to the camp. There are pups there—”

“There’s also Alpha, Sweet, Fiery, and all the others. I’d like to see them try!” He gathered one of the pigeons in his jaws and turned in the direction of their camp. Lucky paused, his ears pricked. Was that a twig snapping, deeper in the forest? He tried to ignore the heavy tread of Bruno’s paws as he listened.

Nothing.

All that talk of danger . . . it must be getting to me.

Lucky shook himself, then scooped up the remaining bird and followed Bruno.