Red Moon Rising

  “I doubt that, too.” Mickey frowned. “Alpha wants us to keep as far away from the longpaws as possible, doesn’t she? I don’t think she’d send Thorn and Beetle on such a dangerous mission. It’s not as if they’re familiar with longpaws and their ways.”

  Storm shifted, sat down, and scratched her ear. “If they’re doing this without permission, and Alpha finds out, she’s going to be in an even worse mood.”

  Mickey shot her a half-amused glance. “Well, we’re the ones who put her in the bad mood to start with. But we should tell her what they’re up to.” Morosely he added, “Maybe she’ll still be so mad at us, she’ll go easier on Thorn and Beetle.”

  Storm licked her jaws. “Or they might end up on punishment duties too. And it’s not like the Pack can afford that. It’s enough of a waste leaving the two of us up here licking our paws.” There was something else, too—she’d had a perfectly good reason for breaking the Pack’s rules, and as much as she regretted the lie, she didn’t regret letting Fox Mist go, not one bit. What if Thorn and Beetle had a good reason too? How would they feel about the dog who reported them to Alpha?

  Thorn and Beetle seemed to like Storm, to believe that she was innocent. If they were caught and punished because of her, when they weren’t doing anything bad, would they ever forgive her?

  Mickey’s brow furrowed; he seemed to be thinking deeply. “Well . . . perhaps we shouldn’t tell Alpha right now, then—but we should mention it to Moon in the morning. I’m sure she’d want to know.”

  Storm squinted to stare down at the longpaw settlement. She could just make out Thorn and Beetle, now creeping in and out of the shadows, sniffing at sleeping loudcages, standing up on their hindpaws to investigate what lay behind the new walls. Thorn gestured with her head to Beetle, and the two litter-siblings vanished around a corner.

  “I know what it’s like to have dogs watching you, talking about your mistakes,” Storm told Mickey. “Thorn and Beetle are grown dogs, with their own Pack names. We shouldn’t be reporting back to Alpha, or their Mother-Dog, on what they’re up to. In fact, telling Moon might be even worse. It doesn’t look like they’re working against the Pack, and I don’t believe they ever would.”

  Mickey sighed. “I don’t know, Storm. We’re supposed to be watching for unusual activity, and that’s very unusual activity. And the idea of keeping anything from Alpha, now of all times—”

  “Mickey, listen,” said Storm, remembering what Alpha had told her before, in a friendlier moment. “Thorn and Beetle—well, they’ve been struggling with the way Fiery died. And they’re a bit obsessed with longpaws. So maybe sneaking off to that place is just their way of finding out more about them. It’s natural, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so.” Mickey’s eyes softened. “We all miss Fiery, so I can imagine how hard it is for those two. Fine, Storm: I won’t mention it to Alpha. Or to Moon.”

  “Thanks, Mickey. I really do think that’s wise.”

  “But,” he added sternly, “I’m going to have a talk with Beetle and Thorn tomorrow. Longpaw settlements are dangerous. I know better than any dog that some longpaws have good intentions—but a lot of them don’t.” He shuddered. “And even the places where they live and work can have hidden dangers. Loudcages, machinery—I’m going to have to impress on those two what a risk they’re taking.”

  Storm nodded. “That’s fair, Mickey.”

  He licked her ear. “I’m going to go and see if there are any floatcages around.” He turned away and padded over to the edge of the cliff, then sat down, curled his tail around him, and gazed out across the Endless Lake. Storm wondered if she too should watch for the giant floating vessels that carried longpaws on the water, but her time would be better spent, she supposed, keeping an eye out in the other direction.

  At the edge of her vision was the huge boulder that had concealed Bruno’s body. She couldn’t help her gaze slanting toward it. In her mind’s eye, she relived the scene again: the brutal injury, Bruno’s body covered in so much blood. Could a small dog really have done that to him? Was I crazy to think it could have been Chase?

  The fox said the killer might be no bigger than Daisy. But that creature admitted herself that she isn’t good at judging a dog’s size or appearance. “The same size as Daisy” could mean any dog from Sunshine to Mickey, for all Storm knew. And that’s if she is even telling the truth.

  There was a sudden scratch of claws on dry rock, and Storm jumped, her heart thrashing. But the dog who came into view at the top of the steep cliff path was only little Sunshine, followed by Moon. Moon was still limping slightly, Storm noticed; the Farm Dog was using her wounded paw with great caution. Storm was glad they had decided not to mention Thorn’s and Beetle’s movements—if Moon knew they’d sneaked off, she would only go rushing after them, and her paw was still weak and sore from her fall.

  “How is that paw doing?” Mickey, walking over, cocked a concerned ear at Moon.

  “It’s a little better, thank you. Still sore, though.” Moon licked at it, looking faintly annoyed.

  “And how are things in camp?” Mickey went on, a look of longing in his eyes.

  “It’s all right,” Sunshine told him. “Quite quiet, really. Oh! I have to tell you what happened with the pups. Yesterday, they asked the Patrol Dogs to bring back any feathers they found, and no dog knew why. They were in their den for ages and ages this morning, and every dog thought they must be taking a nap.” She gave a high yelp of laughter. “We should have known better! When the pups came out, they’d stuck the feathers into Fluff’s fur, all over—because she’d decided she wanted to be a Sky-Dog! Beta had to tell her the feathers wouldn’t make her fly, and she was so disappointed—but oh, Sky-Dogs, it was funny.” Sunshine’s tongue lolled. “It took Breeze forever to get the feathers out, but when she was finished, Lucky gave Fluff a ride around the glade on his back, to make her feel as if she was flying. And then of course all the pups wanted a turn—” Sunshine ran out of breath, and at the same time seemed to register Storm’s and Mickey’s bleak stares. “Well, anyway, that kept the pups busy for a while,” she finished lamely.

  I never thought I’d feel so miserable about missing an ordinary day in camp, Storm thought. I wish I’d seen that, even if it was only silly pup antics.

  She had a suspicion Mickey felt the same way. He cleared his throat. “That sounds fun, Sunshine. And, Moon, how are Beetle and Thorn doing?”

  Storm shot him a warning glance, but Moon didn’t seem to pick up on the edge in Mickey’s voice. “They’ve been volunteering for a lot of patrols,” she told them. “I worry that they aren’t getting enough rest, but I have to admit, it’s been helpful. The Pack has needed all paws working, especially in the last few days. . . .” She licked her jaws, seeming to realize her words were a little tactless.

  But Storm wasn’t worried about that. It was Alpha’s decision to send two of us into exile up here; I’m not going to feel guilty that the Pack is shortpawed.

  What worried her more was Thorn and Beetle, and their nighttime expeditions. That must be how they’ve been sneaking out: pretending that they’re on a legitimate patrol.

  A shiver of anxiety rippled through her fur. If Moon had any idea that they’re not patrolling at all, she would run right off High Watch and go running after them—and that’s the last thing she, or the Pack, needs right now.

  Those two had better prove me right. . . .

  Storm had the distinct feeling that Alpha regretted putting two of her most capable Pack members out of action—not that she’d ever admit it. The swift-dog sat on her haunches, giving Storm and Mickey her most severe gaze, tapping her tail briskly against the ground. Her eyes were tired and her fur looked dull. Well, thought Storm, every dog must have had extra duties for the last three nights and days—and I guess that included Alpha herself.

  “You may have finished your sentence at High Watch,” Alpha told them, “but that does not mean you’re forgiven, either of you. You are back a
mong the Pack because we need you as hunt-dogs.”

  “Of course, Alpha.” Mickey nodded, subdued.

  Storm said nothing. The Moon-Dog, half turned away, was already high in the dark-blue sky; prey-sharing had been over by the time she and Mickey descended wearily from High Watch. At least they would get a night’s sleep in their comfortable dens, but they wouldn’t get a proper meal till the following evening. After the last few days of scant pickings on High Watch, that seemed harsh to Storm.

  “You’ll continue to eat last when we share the prey,” added Alpha, as if she were digging in a claw. “That is, until you each prove to me that you’re capable of being true Pack Dogs again. I hope you realize how disappointed I remain in you both.”

  That’s been made more than clear, thought Storm bitterly as she and Mickey turned to plod toward their dens. I wish I could feel more penitent about what we did. I know it was wrong.

  But Alpha is making it hard to be sorry.

  Mickey didn’t seem to feel the same way; he looked genuinely remorseful as he padded at Storm’s side, his ears low and his tail tucked between his legs. But he lifted his head with sudden curiosity as Beetle and Thorn trotted past them, heading for the woods.

  “There they go on patrol again,” he said softly. “Or maybe not.”

  He and Storm exchanged a look of misgiving.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” she told him with a hunch of her shoulders. “I really don’t think it’s wise to interfere. They’re both smart enough to stay safe.”

  Mickey nodded doubtfully and turned toward his own den. He’s still planning to give them a lecture when he gets the chance, realized Storm. That’s fine by me. They deserve it.

  But I think they’ll be all right for now. What I told Mickey is true: Fiery’s pups aren’t stupid.

  With a sigh she squeezed into her den and trod a circle on her sleeping-place. The camp was quiet, but after the long time with only Mickey for company, it was reassuring to hear the sounds of other dogs, shifting and scratching and occasionally growling in their sleep. From a little way away, she could even hear Lucky’s distinctive snoring. It was a combination of deep snorts and high squeaks that she’d always found secretly funny, but for the moment, she’d lost her sense of humor. Storm glowered at the den walls.

  One of her ears pricked up. There was another sound now, one that didn’t come from a sleeping dog. She could hear cautious steps; they sounded hesitant, and the dog was placing its paws as lightly as it could on the grass. Storm’s brow furrowed. She raised herself up on her forepaws and cocked her head.

  That’s not a dog going out to make dirt. That’s a dog who does not want to be heard.

  Standing up, Storm pushed her head out of the den opening. It took only moments for her eyes to adjust, and she was in time to see a familiar rump and tail vanish into the trees.

  Chase!

  All her suspicions, all her fears came flooding back. Where is Chase going at this time of night? She can’t be up to anything good—not sneaking around like that.

  It certainly wasn’t something Storm could ignore. Quietly she emerged from her den and slunk after Chase, trying not to disturb any other dog. Whatever it is, I can deal with it myself. And with my reputation the way it is at the moment, I’m going to need hard proof before I accuse her of being up to something.

  Chase’s scent was clear on the night air, and it didn’t take Storm long to catch sight of her. Just as she’d suspected, the little dog didn’t go only far enough to make dirt; she was pressing on through the undergrowth, leaving the camp boundary far behind her. Determined not to alert Chase till she’d found out what she was up to, Storm followed as closely as she dared.

  Clouds scudded across the half-obscured Moon-Dog, and there were few stars; Storm had to focus hard to keep Chase in view. She had expected the little dog to stop beyond the boundary of the Pack’s territory, but still she trotted on, giving an occasional nervous glance to her side or over her shoulder. She looks shifty, Storm decided. What will I do if I catch her in the act of some bad deed? Will I have time to go back to alert the Pack, or should I deal with it myself?

  Will the Pack even believe me?

  She picked up her pace, exasperated and increasingly worried.

  In the name of the Forest-Dog, how far is Chase planning to go?

  Just as she thought it, her question was answered. Ahead of Chase, a second shadow appeared through the trees: a scruffy-looking dog of around the same size, who bounded up to her with friendly woofs.

  The shattering of the nervous silence took Storm by surprise, and she came to an abrupt halt, blinking. More dogs were emerging from the shadows now, and they looked familiar. Crouching low, Storm slunk closer.

  Their smells . . . I know these dogs!

  Now she could see and smell them all clearly. That dog who was nuzzling Chase was Rake, her old friend from Terror’s Pack. The scruffy dog’s companions were familiar, too: Storm recognized Woody and Ruff—and there was Dart, the skinny hunt-dog who had originally been part of the half wolf’s Pack, before Sweet had taken over as Alpha and Terror’s former Pack members had joined with them to make one big Pack.

  But these dogs had never been truly happy in the Pack. They didn’t like the way Alpha dealt with the awful things that were happening and felt that she favored the dogs she had known the longest. So they’d left to form their own group.

  This must be where they’re living now, Storm realized. They haven’t gotten very far from our camp, have they?

  She lowered herself closer to the ground—keeping the cheerful reunion in view, but herself out of sight. A terrible thought was racing across her mind.

  If they’re living so close to us, I wonder . . . could the bad dogs be from outside the Pack after all?

  She craned her ears. I have to know what they’re planning.

  “It’s been difficult,” she heard Chase say, and Storm narrowed her eyes. What’s been difficult, Chase? Concealing your plans from Alpha? Hiding your treachery?

  “I’m sure it has.” That was Rake. “I’m sorry we had to leave, but you can understand why, can’t you?”

  “Oh yes,” said Chase softly, “and I don’t blame you. Holding that territory with so few dogs is tough—and there’s a lot more tension now.”

  “Still,” broke in Dart, “the pups must be fun, and I guess they hold the Pack together. They must be growing up fast!”

  “They’re sweet,” agreed Chase. “Breeze and Sunshine are both as crazy about them as their parent-dogs are. They do a lot of the pup-minding, which is helpful. But what about you four? How have you been doing?”

  Oh, come on! thought Storm impatiently. Enough with the chatter—I want to know about the conspiracy!

  “Well, we found this place for our camp,” Woody was saying, “and it’s worked really well. The only competition was a couple of raccoons. They were tougher opposition than I thought they’d be, but we chased them away eventually. See, Chase, there’s a freshwater stream across this dip—can you hear it? The prey situation isn’t bad, either.”

  “It’s not as good as your camp,” said Ruff, “but it suits us just fine. Tell me, how’s Moon? And Thorn and Beetle?”

  “I want to hear more about Breeze and her pup-minding,” said Woody. “And about what you’ve been doing, too, Chase.”

  What? Storm pinned back her ears, frustrated. This is just the kind of chat Lucky and I had with Bella and Arrow, when we visited them. It’s all small dog-talk.

  For the first time, she felt a niggle of doubt in her belly. Is that all Chase is doing? Catching up with her old friends?

  They’d soon get to talking about their plans, Storm reassured herself. She’d find out what their next attack would be, and when it would happen, and where. All I have to do is wait. . . .

  She had to wait an interminable time. Once or twice she nearly dozed off as she listened to the five dogs gossip about their past Packs and the dogs they had known. The snippets of new
s were the most tedious Storm had ever heard; no dog spoke of murder, or poison, or sabotage.

  When Chase sprang to her paws, Storm thought she was finally about to reveal her plot. But all she did was share more friendly licks with her former comrades.

  “It’s been so good to see you all,” she was saying. “And kind of relaxing, after all the trouble and stress in the Pack. I’ll come again as soon as I can.”

  And with that, Chase turned and trotted back the way she’d come.

  Storm almost yelped in surprise; she had to choke it back. It took her a moment to recover her wits, and with Chase quickly out of sight and earshot, she realized she’d have to hurry to catch up. Was that all completely innocent? Really?

  It was too hard for Storm to believe. Picking up her paws, she began to run, determined not to let Chase out of her sight for longer than possible. She could be doing anything while I can’t see her. She could double back and talk quietly to her friends again. She could dodge me and get up to some terrible mischief—

  Panic rose in Storm’s chest, making her heart thunder, and she forgot to be careful. Just as Chase’s haunches came into view, both Storm’s forepaws landed hard on a drift of dry leaves in a hollow, and as she lurched forward, she hit a twig. It snapped with a crack.

  Chase spun around, her paws skidding on the earth. The small dog’s eyes popped wide; Storm could see the whites of them in the dimness. She heard Chase’s gasp, too, and saw her hackles spring up.

  “Storm!” The small dog was breathing hard, and not from exertion. She backed slowly away, her legs trembling, but her rump banged against a pine trunk and she stifled a yelp. But she didn’t take her eyes off Storm.

  She looks terrified.

  For a moment they gazed at each other in tense silence; then Chase whimpered, “Don’t hurt me! Please!”

  For a moment, Storm was too flummoxed to move or speak. Chase’s whole body was shaking now; her fur was erect all over her hide.

  Chase really thinks I’m the bad dog!

  Storm licked her jaws; the simple act made Chase flinch and cower.