Shouldn’t be too much longer now. By the time Damp-sun sleeps and its weird night-pup appears, we will be in-Pack. I left a failed dog with a broken pup at my heels. Returning, I have vital information for the understanding of the monkeys. I hope it will prove my value to Pack. I return with my made-runt, but I know my crime is nothing by comparison to the systematic making of runts that humans have committed. And Late First Eyes Runt^ is more capable than she was. She has understood some basic parts of being a dog. Actually, Spotless has been a big part of her learning. Him and the three others who now den with us. They follow relentlessly in my journey to Pack.
At first, I tried to stop them following but they continue. They’re not without their contributions to pack. They might not have full communication, but they can get across basic information about mood or danger. Also, they know human-technology. They might not understand it or how it functions, but they have provided useful clues in how they expect these things to operate. I stayed an extra few days to use Spotless’ expectations to get a little insight into how some more confusing items operate. I feel like I am beginning to be able to think like a human, or at least anticipate how they design things.
The extra three are all interesting in how they are so different. The stench of human interference permeates the ways they were made. Spotless is small and unable to keep himself clean. A human presumably used to do it. He could never hunt, except in snow, which on Damp-World is limited to high areas, on short days. Pointy is a taller specimen. She is almost as large as me, and larger than Late (for now). She is the least interfered with, but her colours are separated in a way that only a human would design. She joined us before we left the monkey-settlement. She smells the most alert and calm. I almost trust her (more than Late First Eyes Runt) to behave like a Soil-dog.
I call the two that joined us since we left the monkey-settlement All-Spot and Bouncy. All-Spot is all dark and he eats anything. I have to prevent Late First Eyes Runt from seeing his voracious appetite for things that are not provision. She needs no further encouragement to eat strange things. He is barrel-chested and squat but almost as large as Pointy. He is round where she is muscular and defined. He is also quite prepared to sit and watch while Pointy, Bouncy and I (even Spotless and Late First Eyes Runt join us) provide. Bouncy is long-coated but not like Spotless. She is speckled, with dark grotesquely drooping ears, a disfigurement that All-Spot shares but not to such an extreme extent. I can only assume that humans do not want dogs to hear clearly.
It took me a while to figure out how to use these ever-pups to hunt. Bouncy was the key. She was able to sit patiently while I figured out my approach. Once I learnt how to communicate my intentions to her, she could rouse prey from under cover, leaving me free for the chase. Once Pointy and Spotless and Late First Eyes Runt observed me chasing down and catching prey, they joined in. Pointy can almost match my pace so we do most of the chasing, but we can sometimes herd them towards the smaller dogs. They have not had much success as yet, but we have only been trying for a few days.
It is not a pack I could ever have imagined, even a cycle ago when we were first told that dogs would be torn from Soil and World. However, when we den, there is warmth and comfort and, they might not know it, but Pack. They also do not mind Late First Eyes Runt. In fact, Spotless and she are basically pack-bonded now. If either of them had the cognitive capacity to understand it. When she yips, he will come and bark at the same nothing until she calms him by her idiosyncratic attempts at grooming. I am sure it will take some time to persuade Pack Guiders^ that human-made-dogs could be useful. As an insight into humans and how to defend ourselves against them they will be precious. I know I have done the right thing for Pack.
We are travelling through trees, up a slope with a fast-paced stream tumbling down to the valley floor behind us. I am beginning to smell patrols and paths trod by providers. Some scouting-packs have travelled through this land. It is not exactly ideal for canine use so, though packs have denned here, they have travelled onto their Service the next day.
Pointy is up ahead. She is not sentient, but she is smart. She has shown she can distinguish between prey moving in a bush and wind and an approaching stranger dog. She has been attentive in highlighting intruders. Some desperate human-made-dogs have approached us in fear and violence. These dogs have gone away with growling bellies to lick their wounds. Those who have approached looking for Pack or humans or… whatever and have done so calmly, run with me now.
I am at the back of Pack, as First Eyes. These ever-pups are not co-ordinated. They all have their own interests beside getting back to Pack. They don’t feel the yearning pull in my stomach to be near other dogs. Soil-dogs. They are interested in the smells here. Not just those of animals and plants but particularly of any monkey-artefacts they find. I was able to fabricate cache-pouches for Pointy and All-Spot from what I took from the human-settlement. They each carry a store of their treasures. Trying to keep the pack together takes my focus. I cannot tell if we are following the most efficient path to the top of this valley. Pointy heads where she will, and I try to cajole the others into following. It has already taken twice as long as it took me to get there to get back.
Late First Eyes Runt growls. She has run off chasing real or imagined prey several times and it can sometimes take her a while to get back on track. We are so close. I do not have the patience to wait for her to calm and return. Her mane is raised. She is on her belly looking into a scrubby patch to the side of the path. I have not been smelling, just letting scent flow over me. I focus on what she is sniffing at to establish if it is real. Spotless is growling too now and looking beneath the scrub. Then I get it, frightened long-eared rodent^ of-Damp-World. It is small but more than Late First Eyes Runt has a chance of catching.
She suddenly explodes into the bush, snapping and barking. Spotless by her side, running around her, snarling and yipping. I wait for the rodent to run away, but Late First Eyes Runt comes out, a moment later, with the prey proudly in her mouth. I feel a wash of Pack-pride for her and want to groom her. She shakes it viciously. The shaking is joyous at first but begins to become more and more angry. She shakes it until it is pulp in a hide. Then drops it and backs away whining. Eventually, Spotless approaches it. Late First Eyes Runt growls.
As any dog moves, she growls and raises her hackles. I try to pin her, but she will not accept the dominance. The other dogs observe, confused as to how to behave. I smell the confusion and panic from them. Each with their own note. I am scent-masked. Cycles of training mean I mask before I notice discomfort creeping in.
I decide to walk on. I do not want to approach HQ until I know what kind of behaviour this is. The obviousness of how she was made is apparent. I want to help Pack. High-notches are more likely to listen if I do not have such negligence following me around. The human-made-dogs leap at the direction and start to walk at a steady, but not relaxed, pace. Late First Eyes Runt stays far from, but guarding, her kill. She snarls at All-Spot as he passes too near to it for her.
We travel on, perpendicular to my planned route back to Pack. We are approaching the lip of the valley. We can travel through the trees at the top for the rest of the day. I can review her behaviour. She is not yet following, nor is Spotless. He is worried but it is nothing to the terror rolling off her. She is more likely to follow when our scents become more distant, so I keep the gentle pace up to the ridge.
As we crest the ridge and the going becomes much easier, we hear the sickening sound of Late First Eyes Runt surging forward at some perceived aggressor snapping, snarling and cracking her teeth. There is the squeal of Spotless as she attacks him. He gets away and runs along our strong scent-path, left to guide them both back to us. She does not pursue, just howls.
The whole pack is unnerved by these sounds and the following scents of pure rage and terror. I sit, to keep them calmer. We will move on with Spotless once he is with us. We hear him stumbling through bushes instead of following the easier, but longer, path we took. He is not walking evenly. He is pitching back and forth. I feel queasy thinking about what I made. These dogs didn’t need to be exposed to this. No dog does. I made this dangerous thing. If they had not found me. If I had not made her. I am a hyena. I am a runt-maker.
I am not thinking of Pack. I am First Eyes to this oblivious pack. I will get them all to den tonight. I can stay up and wait for whatever comes next.
Eventually Spotless breaks out of the scrub, sides heaving, foam at his mouth from panting, shaking, limping and bleeding. I mask my horror and approach him. I groom him. The others keep a distance and groom themselves. He is jumpy and looks up at every sound he hears and every scent on the wind. He has two obvious wounds. One deep set of scratches on his side. She bit his front paw so hard it has crushed the bone and broken the skin. A QD^ could fix this leg. I guess we will be going to Pack soon, whatever the case. For now, I groom it clean and push the skin together where I can. I put a strap of human-made hide round it to hold the flaps together. That’ll have to do until we get him to a QD. I wish I could tell him it can be fixed. This pain won’t be the world for too long.
Spotless will not be walking any further until he has rested. I guess we’ll den here. We have the height advantage. She couldn’t approach without making a lot of noise, even if she tried to conceal it (which I do not think she would even think to do). I send out a wave of calm. It would make very little impact on Soil-dogs, but these limited creatures are susceptible to pheromonal suggestion. All-Spot, Bouncy and Pointy stretch out, not quite together or apart. I realise they are leaving a space for Late First Eyes Runt empty. No Rise or Set would leave a space for a danger to Pack, or their maker.
Spotless is fighting sleep and my hormonal^ persuasion. He is starting awake as he drifts off, eyes showing white, and panting. I tell him a scent-story from when I was in creche. I am pretty sure he doesn’t understand. How could he? But maybe the scent-tone^ is soothing. I tell him about my Soil parents and creche. I tell him about when I first heard of World and Soil and how beautiful I found Their love for dogs. I tell him about Pack and how it loves every-dog but that those who damage other dogs are not worth feeding. I scent-mask my disgust in myself from him and he sleeps on.
Over the last degrees^, I’ve wondered in circles about what to do for Late First Eyes Runt. I finally smell and hear her approaching. She seems to be carrying that awful prey and worrying it as she travels. She smells completely calm but then there’s a moment of fear, so powerful it makes Spotless stir in his sleep. Then it goes and she is back, following our path. I head to the peak so I can stay in control of the situation. She bounds up to the track next to me, shaking her head, flapping the decimated corpse. She drops it immediately at my feet and stares at me. I pick it up and put it into my cache-pouch to keep it away from her. When she is asleep, I can dispose of it. When I take it, she is instantly delighted and calm. I put my paw out to pin her and she flattens herself gladly accepting my dominance.
She trots over to the space in the den-pile and, smelling Spotless, grooms him very gently. He stirs, smells her and relaxes into sleep. She settles in the middle of the den-pack and they all sleep. I do not understand these dogs. They sleep as a contented and bonded pack now. As I throw the limp carcass into the valley, I hope that this is the last of this sort of behaviour so intolerable to Pack. I doubt it is. Soil will never forgive me for this. Neither will Pack. Neither will I.