A Pack Divided

Special thanks to Gillian Phillip

For Fergus & Annie Nicol

WILD PACK (
IN ORDER OF RANK
)

“What's wrong with him?” The little
pup's whiskers shivered as she nudged the long grass fearfully with her nose. “I don't understand. What's wrong?”

Flinching back as her nerve deserted her, she pressed closer to her two litter-brothers. The other pup, the one who lay in the grass in front of her, didn't so much as stir. She could make out the hollow curve of his tiny flank through the green blades, but it didn't rise and fall with his breath. One small ear was visible too, but it didn't twitch, not even at the tip. She couldn't see the little pup's eyes, but some instinct told her she didn't want to, anyway. She trembled with uncertainty and fear.

One of her litter-brothers, the smaller one, cuddled tighter against her, and she felt the dampness of his wet nose against her ear. “He's sick, I think. Like Mother-Dog?”

The female pup shivered. Yes, Mother-Dog was sick. She hadn't been well since that fight they'd heard. Mother-Dog had crept under the house, telling the pups to leave her alone for a little while. That she'd be better soon.
But leave me be, pups.

She'd been under the house now for a very long time.
Oh, Mother-Dog,
the pup thought with an inward whimper.
Aren't you better yet? It's taking so long . . . and now this pup is sick, and we don't know what to do. . . .

“Perhaps we should wake the pup now,” her litter-brother piped up. “Take him inside, where it's warm and safe?”

“I don't know if he'll wake up,” she whined unhappily. “He looks so very asleep.”

And there was something else, something she didn't want to put into words. As her nose twitched and she sniffed hesitantly, she caught it again: that odd tang, the one that made her shudder. It wasn't a proper dog scent. It wasn't how a pup should smell, she thought, bewildered. It was like old meat, like what the grown dogs had left behind uneaten.

“You're both being silly.” Her other litter-brother, the largest of the three of them, sounded stubborn and squeakily gruff as usual, but even he couldn't hide the tremor in his voice. “We don't have to do anything. The Pack will be home soon. Alpha
will make Mother-Dog better, and she'll make her own pup better too.”

“Are you sure Alpha is coming back?” asked the smaller male pup hesitantly.

“Of course she is,” the bigger one said with an air of superiority. He nodded toward the motionless little dog. “That's Alpha's pup. So she'll come back. See? Mother-Dogs
never
leave their pups.”

“Oh.” The littlest pup wagged his tail, hesitantly. “When she makes her pup well, maybe he'll play with us?”

This time the bigger pup said nothing, and neither did the female. She caught his anxious, uncertain look. That motionless pup didn't look as if he'd be able to play with them anytime soon.

Gathering her courage, she squirmed forward on her belly through the damp grass. It was nearly all she knew, this sheltering greenness. It had always been her whole world, and the sweet, fresh, familiar scent of it almost masked the pup's strange odor. She made herself creep closer till her quivering nose almost touched his flank.

She could just make out the bristly hair on the pup's neck. It looked stiff and dark, as if it had once been wet, and had dried a long time ago. Curious, she blinked. There were punctures, she
realized, beneath those rigid prickles of fur. They looked a bit like the marks she and her litter-siblings had left on the soft-hide where they slept: ragged and torn at the edges. Their tiny teeth made those marks, she knew; chewing the hide gave them all comfort. But the marks here looked much bigger than that.

It didn't make sense. But she couldn't concentrate on working it out: the hunger that had nipped all day at her belly tightened, suddenly and sickeningly. She gave a low, miserable whimper.

“Don't worry,” came her bigger litter-brother's voice again. “Everything will be fine when Alpha comes back.” But he didn't sound so definite anymore. His voice quavered, as if he didn't quite believe it himself.

His new uncertainty made her belly twist with pain, and her ribs seemed to tighten around her heart. Throwing back her head, she gave in to a volley of high, yelping howls of fear and heartbreak.

“Mother-Dog is so still! The pup is cold! They won't move! Why won't they move?”

“Where's Alpha?” Her small litter-brother joined his miserable yelps to hers.

“There's no dog here!” she cried. “The food is gone and the Pack is gone. We're all alone and they've left us!
We're alone!
”

Now even her bigger, stronger litter-brother was howling his panicked grief. “They went away and left us, they've gone, they've all gone . . .”

Their high, frantic yips echoed through the grass and the trees and the sky, but she knew there was no dog in the whole world who would hear them. The awfulness of that thought filled her whole small being, and she could no longer stop her helpless crying.

Suddenly, though, she felt her bigger litter-brother's nose nudge her flank. “Hush!” he whined in a trembling voice. “Quiet, both of you. Some dogs are coming!”

At once all three fell silent, stiffening with a new, immediate fear. The female pup took gulps of air, trying to calm herself, trying not to whimper anymore. As she licked her soft jaws, she smelled them, too: unfamiliar dogs.

Strangers, and they were
coming this way
.

She glanced at each of her litter-brothers, seeing in their eyes the same mixture of hope and terror that she felt.

We're so alone . . . oh, Mother-Dog . . .

In sudden, desperate panic, the pups scrambled back to their soft-hide bed, climbing over one another in their haste.
The soft-hide is safe!
thought the female pup, as she wriggled between her
litter-brothers' paws.
Nothing can catch us there!

They tumbled into the bed, panting. In its familiar-smelling warmth, they huddled together. She pressed her empty belly tight against the soft-hide, knowing she had to stay down low. She was too afraid to look. She mustn't make a sound, not a sound. Mustn't twitch . . .

Maybe they'll help. Don't dogs help pups? They always do . . . right?

Something awful, something long lost, trembled in the depths of her memory, and she shut her tiny eyes tight.

Or maybe they'll kill us. . . .