I have to admit it. On Damp-World there are dogs that willingly live with monkeys. The dogs that lived in this monkey-settlement seem to have turned to “humans”, not Pack, to provide what Pack should. Shelter and provision were clearly controlled by humans. I have found provisioning-spots with small divot-containers that smell of lifetimes of the same provision. The divot-containers are definitely not dog-made and bear similarity to other human artefacts I have collected. I have found more small, human-made, dog-dens (like their own cavernous planted dens rather than a warm snug, dog-dug den). I am forced to acknowledge that, from what I can tell, humans have systematically made dogs runt for some reason.

The more I think about it, the more violated I feel. Why would any species think they had the right to do that to another? We cultivate provision, but we do not provision them. They are born wild, live wild and are made-prey in a wild way. If Pack disappeared tomorrow, World and Soil would mourn, but any off-Worlder would not be able to trace Pack except for den-complexes. Which would erode away soon enough. We do not hurt World or Soil. They let us go where we please but, that does not mean we would make-runts of other species. Damp-World must be ashamed of them.

I have not had the energy to dig a den. We have been denning in a human den-complex. I have become accustomed to the miasma. Though humans fabricate dens above ground (further evidence of their need to sight-mark Damp-World) they are as snug as the deepest dens. Though they have an unconventional layout, the entrance’s draughts do not reach me several chambers over.

Given how much wild grew in the other monkey-site, this is surprisingly sparse and segregated. That may be related to the dark lava trails everywhere. Surrounding most den-complexes are areas of almost wild. They are segregated by high wooden walls and each so different they cannot be a reflection of natural growth. Humans can’t even let plants grow.

My reverie is disturbed by an irritating screeching. Late First Eyes Runt^ wants. She always wants. How do Soil parents manage? If I find one who will acknowledge me (they, more than any other Service of dog, avoid me), I will ask how to deal with the incessant bleating. She keens again. My hackles raise. I shake myself and rise. I will locate her and find out if I can do anything to stop the dreadful row.

She is in the canopy layer of this den. Where dogs have deep-dens, humans have canopy-dens. They have found a way round the lack of climbing trees (monkeys always need trees) by making their own. There are a series of platforms in nearly all the complexes I have managed to enter, taking one up to another level of dens. Canopy-dens often smell more of individuals and privacy. They don't seem to den in packs; there are at most 3 individuals in a den. Many of them are used by just one individual. They must be lonely. Maybe that is why they have violated dogs – to feel some kind of Pack. My preference is to den in the warm den-chamber, full of soft items, near Soil. Late First Eyes Runt often goes to one of the canopy-dens. Why would she notice the separation from Soil? She prefers one canopy-den with a large, soft sleeping canopy that reeks of a male monkey just reaching his sexual maturity. It is full of artefacts I can’t interpret.

Late First Eyes Runt is on top of the sleeping-canopy. She thinks she can’t get down. She has done this several times. I can’t explain to her that the difficult part is getting up and, if she did that, then she can get back down again. I climb up to nudge her to the ground. She is resistant, then tumbles backwards. She knocks some human device. It, in turn, budges a huge piece of white, chemical^-masked wood. It begins to swing. It is attached to the chamber-portal on one side. It is the same size and shape as the portal. I realise what is about to happen too late. I dash forward to try to stop it from closing. But it does. I put my nose to the gap. It shifts a tiny amount and gives a sickening click. The portal is closed. I am trapped in here with this whimpering pup. She is distraught at the movement and noise and my unmasked emotion. I wish she could shut up. She can’t even tell that my fate is so much worse than hers.

She eventually stopped crying. She then climbed back onto the canopy and went to sleep. Sunlight is streaming through part of the wall (made somehow from solid-air, practically scentless). It is casting an unfamiliar glow on what must be an intimate space. Humans seem to want light in their private spaces. That makes sense to me, with what I know of them and their contrary ways. I investigate the chemical-encased wood. There is a metal branch. The monkeys can definitely manipulate metal in a way we just cannot imagine. It seems expected from a species who need to change plants and animals to their liking. The branch smells strongly of the human who denned here. It reeks of hormones^, seminal fluid, faeces, something chemical, human provision (sour, far too complex and sweet), Heat, more chemicals (there are certain scents found all over this den and others unique to the male who lived here) and lo and behold: a human-made dog.

As I sniff the branch, I observe a darker patch on the frighteningly uniform walls. The patch smells of this human-made dog. There is even a discernible print. The dog rested their paws on this spot. I recoil. I feel confused about these beasts who smell so like Soil-dogs. As I pass, I graze the metal branch. It moves a little. A clicking comes from within the wood – like before. I put a paw on the branch, but I cannot move it again. I push it with my paws and nose. How did I make it move? It is a fixed lever. One end is fixed but the other will move with not too much pressure. It is awkward, needing downward force. It is very difficult to grasp with my mouth and the angle is not easy for my paws. At first, they slip off.I scrabble.

After more heartbeats than I would like, the branch swings down. It triggers some mechanism inside the wood. There are clicks. I feel the portal-cover give. It swings slightly in towards me. It off-balances me. I push it back shut. RUNT-MAKER. OK. I shake myself.

This time, on the first attempt, I push the branch down, hear the clicks. I delicately back up without sealing it again. With all four paws on the ground, I put my nose to the relatively fresh smell of the rest of the den-complex and use it to pull the portal-cover towards me. I get it open. Yes! I prepare to bound out and celebrate a moment. There is a piercing scream. I rocked back onto Late First Eyes Runt who had quietly come to sit behind me. She has run under the sleeping-canopy and is shaking.

I curse her and leave, down towards outside. Now I understand what they do, I spot portal-covers everywhere. Most have branches like the one in Late First Eyes Runt’s chamber. There are many structures I have not yet been able to access. The structures I have already entered have uncovered portals. Those must be missing the portal-covers that used to live there. Why do they want to close themselves off from the Damp-World they changed so much to suit them? Are they ashamed? Maybe they can’t deep-sleep without shutting their guilt out?

I select a structure at random. The portal-cover on the trail-side has no branch. I follow the walls round. They sharply bend as these structures tend to. I discover a second portal-cover, with a branch. I try my new technique. The branch moves but no click and the portal-cover does not budge. I glance about and notice at least a littersworth^ of portal-covers. It is going to be a long day of experimentation.

I am exhausted and heading back to the den-structure. I have established the following:

➤ All structures have portal-covers,

➤ Most have branches,

➤ Some of these function. Others either do not move at all or move but don’t trigger the openging mechanism,

➤ Most structures have many inside – like our den-structure,

➤ If you can get into a structure, the portal-covers within are much easier to open,

➤ Portals reveal many different chambers with different scents and purposes,

➤ I could research this settlement until I Walk and I still would not understand humans.

My head is roiling. I want to groom and deep-sleep. But I must provide. Most prey in this area have become wary. The human-made-little-wilds often have plant-provision in them. There are several plants I am not sure about. They smell wrong. I will have to expand the hunt soon. I hear the bleating of Late First Eyes Runt long before I can see the structure or smell her needy, puppyish scent. I shake myself. I must do what is right for Pack. I must teach her to be a useful Pack-mate. All dogs are useful in their own ways. Made-runts are generally no different. They often can become or continue as Service-dogs – their shamed makers may be forgiven. When they cannot, and Late First Eyes Runt never will, they can revert to the responsibility of those who made them. I will feel the shame of her until one or other of us Walk.

These thoughts have quickened my pace. I am almost trotting back to her cries. I find her sitting where I sleep, yipping over and over. When she smells me, she instantly stops and wags. She then comes over and grooms my foreleg. I find it irritating but I don’t stop her. She makes small snuffly sounds. She grooms my leg until she's tired. She is exhausted from calling for a Soil parent who never came. I feel a swell of pity for her. I did this to her. Just like humans did to Damp-dogs. I made her into something thought-free and dependent. Those dogs were so happy to be with the humans who ruined them. She is happy to be with me.

She starts whimpering for provision. The still of the moment gone, I remember I need to provide. Wait a cent^, there is a portal-cover over there. That must lead into the human-tamed-little-wild. I try the branch. It gives way. It, in fact, leads to another chamber with another portal-cover (made of solid-air) opposite that does lead into the tame-wild. This chamber smells of den and Pack-love and humans and Damp-dogs and provision and chemicals. The artefacts in here feel different to those in other chambers. I head for the tame-wild. There are still some berries and fruits out there.

(What’s that portal-cover hiding? Is there a small ) for humans ( chamber there? Why does it hum? ) I ask Late, as if she would understand. Whatever it hides, is humming. I have heard a few artefacts stirring in this monkey-settlement. I don’t know what it means. They don’t seem alive but maybe these are the results of further human meddling with the world they grew up on. This portal-cover has a different branch. I grab it and cannot twist it. The portal opens anyway. There is a sun inside this chamber. But it is cold, like it is a portal to a mountain peak. The wave of cold is accompanied by a rank smell of rotting and bacterial activity. I let the portal-cover swing back into place. What is this altitude-portal for? Why would they have rotting things in their dens? Maybe they were not rotten. Humans have been gone a while. I have been on exercise before and returned to a well-maintained cache to find Soil has taken provision and it is rotten. There is a second, similar portal-cover beside the first. I might as well find out what is in there, if I can.

If the first was a portal to altitude, the second is as cold as the far Wilderness wastes. This does not smell of rot. It is too cold to smell of anything. Something cold and hard falls out as I let the portal-cover close. Late First Eyes Runt approaches and starts to lick it. I nudge her off. My stomach growls. I take Late First Eyes Runt through the portal-cover to the tame-wild. We can deal with the cold thing later. Provision first. I show her (again) what plants I know are safe to eat, renewing my crude scent-marks. I have no idea if she knows what the marks are, but she has started to contribute to them too. We pick the bushes clean. I do not have the energy to go anywhere else. We will sleep and we can search again in the Rise. The degrees^ seem longer now than when we arrived.

I show Late First Eyes Runt how to open the portal-cover. She scents attention. Does she understand? Once it is open, the smell of old but palatable flesh-provision greets me. I am so tired I must be hallucinating. Late First Eyes Runt trots straight back to the cold lump and starts to lick it again. I stride over. The lump smells of provision. I take it in my jaws and bite down. It is unyielding. Slowly my teeth sink in. I feel crystals burst against my teeth. I break into it. It is provision in the Wilderness-chamber. Maybe humans don’t like the thought of hot blood rushing into their mouths as they make-prey. Maybe this is how they provide for each other and their dogs. I find I don’t care. This provision is cold and brittle and tastes of chemicals and salt but is flesh. I have not had flesh in some time.

I regurgitate some for Late First Eyes Runt and she gobbles it down. I go to my den-chamber. She follows. I settle to groom. She grooms me. I encourage her to groom herself but to no avail. I finish myself and give her a cursory clean for tonight. She tastes of a melange of her den-chamber. My loneliness blows over me. I have not enjoyed learning to den alone. Denning with Late First Eyes Runt has not felt like denning with Pack. I have not cared where she slept. Tonight, I want her to sleep with me. I put my paw on her back and she lies down. I rest my chin on her back and she deep-sleeps instantly. She is twitching and whimpering in her sleep. I did this to her.