The weather has been a constant attack. My nose is still reeling from the change in scentscape Outside. Rain, wind that cuts through my coat like I am a hairless pup, hard rain and Wilderness rain. We have not been covering even 0.5days^ a day. In this pack, as First Eyes I am not just responsible for heading and stopping points but everything – where and what we eat, where each dog shits, the exact route down a precipice, who can den next to who. I am exhausted. Provision has been hard come by, even with the whole pack acting together. I don’t know what predators are native to this land but there is certainly something large in this area who has disturbed many hibernating rodents in their dens before we can find them. Whatever it is, barely smells of anything (or maybe reeks and I can’t tell). It is the bringer of death and fear in many a small creature and the stealer of provision from our jaws. I think of it as a Damp Hyena^, in a constant battle of wits with me. I assume, any hyenas of this world would not be prepared to have a battle of wits with All-Spot.

I kept us to the river, and now coast, since if we head inland we inevitably hit the barrier. I am not sure if we will have to live in less than 0.25days from the coast for the rest of our lives or if we will eventually get past it and find a place where we can go inland and have a slightly more interesting diet and maybe a break from the flaying wind. We walk along abandoned hard-trails; they are larger than any I have seen thus far. They are warped and broken with plants breaking through. There are a few signs of human dens, picked bare, scattered in the countryside. The wind whips off the big saltwater, rushes over the land, turns on its tail and heads back out to big-saltwater like the terrifying waves of unfamiliar ferocity on its dark grey surface. When it comes back for the second attack, I smell the scent of dry leaves amongst the smells of big-saltwater and wet plants. There is a wood that comes down almost to the estuary. It might be on the right side of the barrier. The scent of dry leaves must be from this side of the barrier. Maybe we could get in there and be dry for a few degrees^. It is not like we have a deadline. After I watched the strange night-Sun change through every shape and saw no sign of any other dogs, I was able to relax into the journey, however hard it is to complete. If we ever complete it.

I strike out from the easy, flat plain towards the wooded rise. The others follow, slowly. They are exhausted. They trust me without thought. They are sure where I am going is where they want to go. I have to do the best I can for them. Even that feels like less of a burden now. Every-dog here is already a made-runt. I can’t do any more damage to them. We break through the trees and are not stopped by imperceptible barriers. Good start. We walk into the trees and up the incline. Soon the sound of the wind and rain are muffled, hushed by the dense foliage. The leaves on the ground here are indeed dry. I feel like I have never been dry. I roll in the dry leaves. The others fall to around me. Late First Eyes Runt^ and Spotless descend into play, chasing in a less energetic manner than they did Inside. I let myself drift into the smell of leaf-mould and old, clean, regeneration, the smell of life continuing. It feels almost earthy^. Of course it does to you, you idiot. You will never smell Soil again. You think anything is earthy the same way a dog dying of thirst would drink hyena piss.

The cloud of the rage at myself parts as I roll myself dry in the leaves. I think of nothing but the feeling of leaf-dirt rubbing into my coat. I feel pleasantly gritty and dry. I pass a nose over the pack. They might as well rest. We have had barely any decent provision in a twentieth thanks to Damp Hyena. A bit of rest might improve our chances. This wood seems like one of the best hunting grounds we have encountered Outside. In this den of trees, I can smell the fluttering of animal life, both dormant and active. I can barely smell the big-saltwater. I feel further from it than I have been since I left World. Without me signalling, all the ever-pups have slumped down and are sleeping.

As they settle into deep breathing (occasional little huffs from Spotless or Bouncy, and continuous growling snores from All-Spot) the scents of the woods continue to expand around me. This is not as small as it first appeared, and it has some scents I have never come across before, but I instantly know are human. What intrigues me is the missing misty lack-of-smell that I have come to associate with the barrier. Are we finally past it? In some ways I am relieved, in others I feel worried. From the small amount of the overall compound I saw, it would have taken us much longer than a quarter-season^ to get around it. What I wouldn’t give for a familiar landmark or a scent-map to just know I am still going away from Pack, keeping them safe.

I strike out up the slope. The growth of the wood is both ancient and primal but there are trails wider and more regular than any native animal I have smelled would make. They are being gradually filled with younger plants. I can walk down this path without a single branch brushing against the longest guard hair. I smell a hint of provision. Large-bodied provision. Enough for even All-Spot to be full. I can’t be sure how long it is since they came by, but they did and that means they might be back. I urge myself forward with the promise of hot blood pouring into my stomach, powered by the last beats of prey’s heart. There are small, human-made, walls throughout the trees. I see a curious, obviously human-made and abandoned, short plant with notches in it. So, this was a human place. I have not seen any other woods so obviously adapted to human use.

I have had no fear of bumping into a human before now. Even though we are Outside, there is no sign of human existence for more cycles than I have seen in total. The tiny scent along with this limbless tree, wide trails, and walls that were here before Set demanded Rise share their den (although not exactly conclusive proof) suggest a recency of human visitation that I am not comfortable with. Where humans have left for good, they have taken their dens apart. I think. I proceed with caution, aware that any potential I have to observe undetected will disappear when the pack wakes. As I travel onward, following different tracks and finding them to often loop back to each other rather than lead to a place, I wish my hearing was less impaired. I hear a mid-range humming, but it is muffled by the leaves and hard to distinguish from the continuing deluge outside the woods. I cannot glean any directional information, so I have no means of investigating further. I add it to my list of suspicious things about this place. Maybe we should leave. I can’t face the thought of going back out into the buffeted marshy estuary or to continue to follow the coast. This is a new world, and these might all be things that have nothing to do with humans. Humans might not be here anymore even if these things are human. Maybe we could be safe here. Why do you think that is the way life would go for you? If there is even a tiny chance of disaster you will find a way to make it happen.

I focus on figuring out how safe it will be to stay here for a few days. Maybe it will go wrong but I can’t do much more right now. I have established that most of the paths end up back here except for one up the hill. I can smell something different this way. Something not alive but very old. I might as well investigate. I sidle into the tall grass and the shrubs away from the path. I scent-mask and slink through. I feel like I am with Pack, executing a stealth mission in training or in an assault on a Set settlement. But you aren’t, are you? You are so pathetic. You made prey of any chance of being in Pack ever again. I sneak parallel to the widening track. Eventually (as I begin to wonder if I should go back since the pups, waking alone, will definitely make a row), I see the thing I could not quite smell.

It is the oldest human edifice I have ever seen. The life bedded deep between the stones is well-established and the marks speak of generations of life and weather shaping this monument to human presence. It is made from huge planted stone. Not the small, human-made stones I have seen before. The same efficient orientation is apparent but the clever binding soil is missing. There is a portal (without a cover) leading to a dark interior. It rises higher than any human-planted structure I have seen. I can smell no unusual life. The entrance has a patch of short growth like some mighty, square paw had swiped it all aside. It is eerie even if it is safe. There are birds flying in and out of the empty portals up the sides. I can smell no fear in the air in any direction. I take a step towards the entrance.

A howl splits the still under the trees. Bouncy has woken then. The others will also be awake after that. A chorus of disgruntled, confused barks erupt. Even though I am pretty sure there is no-dog, (or anything else) to hear us in a day in every direction and knowing that outside the canopy no sound, however loud within, would be heard within a packslength, I flinch at the racket. I pitch my voice as high as I can and give one long, drawn out call. I don’t stop until every other bark has ceased. Late First Eyes Runt howls a full 5 heartbeats after any other. I hoo-call as loud as I can. The test of all those days of training. I hope it serves. I cannot be bothered to trawl back down to them if I don’t have to. I hear two distinct hoos back. They should now be tracking me by scent. If they are not sure of direction, they should hoo again.

I cannot wait, I am drawn into the dark. I enter. My nose does not give me much except the stone and the life living within it. Nothing different to outside. It is colder and damper. I shiver. My breath comes rattling back to my ears from every direction. I can’t separate what is echo and what is my lack of directional hearing. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see that there is the beginning of one of the series of platforms they use to get between levels. If I step onto the first one, I can hear the echo of rain. I follow them up and after a few platforms they turn sharply Rise, revealing the same number travelling that way. As I travel up, the platforms form rings of 4 sets of platforms, 1 each to Rise, South^, Set, North. Periodically there are gaps in the walls that appear intentional. They have the unnatural straight edges humans seem to favour and a strap of different stone around them. Through them, I smell the trees, the canopy, then the rain and wet forest, big-saltwater and thunder. I do not hear a hoo call. I am not sure I would hear one now. I only scent-masked for the last section of the journey. They shouldn’t be too far away, even if they are lost.

The rain sounds deafening as I keep climbing. I know I have never been so far straight up before. It is unlikely any dog has. The only time a dog sees a canopy is from a precipice. The scent of fresh air and rain has increased. I realise I am damp in my coat. So much for being dry for a bit. The platforms have little rivulets of water running in the channels worn by thousands of animals passing back and forth for generations. I break out of the enclosed part and seem to be on some kind of exposed platform. There are walls but no cover. The rain drenches me. There are parts where wall is lower, so I put my fore paws into one and put my head out.

I imagine that, when it is not raining, this might be an excellent vantage point to smell, hear and see for days in every direction. At this moment however, it is a blanket of water and dark skies in all directions. What did you expect? You had plenty of warning it would be raining. Do you just find pointless tasks for yourself? What is wrong with you? I will come back another day. It can’t rain forever here, even if it seems like it does now. There were dry days Inside, there will be dry days Outside. The others are definitely lost by now. Glad you neglected Pack for a rewardless adventure? Maybe you should just automatically do the opposite of what you think.

I slip and slide down the first few rings of platforms. By the time my ears and nose tell me that I am back under the canopy, I am distraught at what I have done to them. I am meant to be their First Eyes. But that is something you invented. They were all fine before you arrived. They follow you because they are too stupid to recognise the reek that comes off you. You don’t even have the courage to run away in the night like you want to. You are not a Soil-dog. You are an ever-pup. You belong with them. But not as First Eyes like you have set yourself up to be. You are just like them. Late First Eyes Runt is more of a Soil-dog than you. She was made. You made yourself. You’ve always been a runt-maker.

I tumble out into the weird cut patch of life. It is darker than it was before, and I can hear the occasional of flurry of rain getting through the canopy. I hoo call and hear my voice waver. I hear three clear hoos in return, two together and one from almost opposite. I don’t know whether to head to the one or the two. I hoo again long and loud. I relaxed my scent-mask at some point in the climb and I almost gag on my own fear and guilt. At least if I reek, the others will find it easier to locate me. I let myself feel the panic. I lower my barriers and let all my self-loathing wash over me. In less than a heartbeat, my stench increases. I roll, maintaining my panic so my scent is as strong as possible. I use my paws to seep my scent into the tree trunks. I piss in the clearing and dash towards the solo bark. Late First Eyes Runt.

I hear another hoo from behind me as I run. I hoo one last time. After this, my hoo will take them away from the destination. There is a hoo from ahead; her voice betrays her fear. I don’t know if she knows I am coming or if she is drowning in her panic. I stumble forward, following the scent of her fear and sounds of her yips and barks. I feel so sorry for her. My stomach aches for her, in an unknown place, barely knowing who or what she is, and then enough experiences to make an adult dog feel tired. I can’t hoo for fear of drawing the others away from the stone tree-den. I scream out into where a pack-bond would be. I am so frustrated, and I only have myself to blame. As usual.

( Quick! Help! ) Excellent. I have made myself such a runt that I am imagining pack-bonds. I focus and run. I reach the edge of the densely treed area and take in a landscape of artificially short grass (a different species to what grows here normally), lakes a dog could not cross and sandy patches (like dust rolls), all divided as neatly as the spots on Tall’s back. I see it in flashes as the storm continues. I see the shape of Late First Eyes Runt against a light patch of sand. There is a lighter blob next to her. Scents and sounds are whipped away from me by the wind. Sand whipped up showers my face, getting into my coat. I set out towards them with my belly low to minimise the impact of the wind which is almost as hard as the barrier. She turns her head and sees me.

( Quick. Help. Small Pack. Help. Please. Please. Please. ) The thrill that I might be able to feel a pack-bond again at some point before I Walk, is dwarfed by the sadness of this being the first sentient communication we have ever had. Will I now be constantly able to hear her fear and sadness? How will you let yourself off the hook if you have a constant reminder of the permanent damage you have done to her?

( Late First Eyes Runt. I am coming. We are going to be OK. Can you and Small Pack come towards me? ) It might be that she hears, it might be that she understands. She does not move. She does stop howling into the storm. I can only tell from seeing her illuminated, standing over Spotless who is lying on his side. He does not look well. I am close enough to see how wide his eyes are by the time I can actually smell the fear and pain from them both. His front right leg is bent at an angle that makes me want to vomit whatever is left in my stomach. He is in shock. He will not be able to cooperate in us getting him out of the puddle he is sitting in on the wet, rain-pocked sand. I have a human-made hide in my cache-pouch. I think Late First Eyes Runt is carrying one too. I thought I would be organised but trying to keep on top of who was carrying what was something I had no thoughts left for. I wish I knew.

( Late First Eyes Runt. Small Pack is not well. We need to get him into the trees up there. He cannot walk so we must walk for him. I have a big hide in my cache-pouch. Do you have one in yours? ) She cocks her head to one side like she cannot quite hear me. I say it again out loud to make myself feel better. I am not sure if she could hear it even if I thought she would understand it. I pull out my piece. It is big enough to get Spotless onto so we can cope if she has none. She upturns her cache-pouch before I can stop her and many carefully collected human specimens and a large portion of the treasures she collects for herself disappear into the rain. Of what is heavy enough to not be taken by the wind, there is nothing that would help this situation. I shove as much as I can back in her pouch and try to sling it back over her. It is heavier than it was, despite losing items because of the scoop of sand that came with the artificial vine, the sharp leaf and a few of the human solid-chemical items I or she thought were worth keeping. She avoids it going round her neck. I don’t waste time trying again. When the rain ends, these things might still be here. If we aren’t prompt, we might not get Spotless back.

I attempt to spread out my hide to get Spotless onto it, but it is too windy. I have to go into the lee of one of the crests over the mini-desert to get it flat. I ask Late First Eyes Runt to lie on it to hold it pinned while I move Spotless. I somehow persuade her to lie on it and I start to approach Spotless. He is looking bad. He is not opening his eyes much. I can smell the slackness of his limbic system. He is not feeling anything but pain. The rain bouncing off his face isn’t making him flinch. He is curled round himself and rigid. I groom his face briefly to try to prepare him for what is coming next and hoping it’ll remind him he trusts me. Like an idiot. He doesn’t respond. I try to get my nose under him, maybe I could sling him like a cache-pouch and move him. He comes up at my face snarling fury. He is alone in his pain. He just needs it to go away.

I have no idea how I can move him. I am not sure if I should be considering letting him Walk. I have never done it in-Pack before. I see flapping in my periphery and I turn. Late First Eyes Runt was too frightened to be left far from us both. She has shimmied on her belly towards us, dragging the hide with her. If that was on purpose it would be astounding. But it is a mistake. I thank any being who would accept my thanks. I coax her over further. She goes to stand, and I have to growl at her. When she is lying again, I drag myself towards her like she was. She gives me her confused expression but then starts to do the same. Whatever she was doing before she isn’t doing now. I tell her to lie again. She does. I go to beside her and try to replicate what she was doing myself. For a few moments I cannot make it move at all, mostly because Late First Eyes Runt is taking the previous command more seriously than any I have ever given her. Eventually I begin to drag myself along letting the hide move between me and the wet sand. Late First Eyes Runt starts mimicking my wriggling. I encourage her, even though she could be helping or hindering and I would not know.

We get close enough and I hurriedly roll him onto the hide. He growls and tries to attack us both. I gather the corners of the hide and start to drag him along, at least with the wind now, back to the treeline where I can actually smell what is going on. Late First Eyes Runt is trying to help but mostly stepping on the hide and making it harder. We are both panicking. I haven’t been careful enough at keeping my emotions from her in this moment, particularly with the possibility she might feel them through a pack-bond. She tries to grab a corner and pull. We eventually end up dragging him in parallel but that just creates a wing to catch the wind and drag us too rapidly back towards the trees. I am fearful of letting go. I have already heard the screams from within the hide, even over the storm.

I suddenly feel like I am warm and dry from my stomach out to my nose and my tail, to where I still forget my ears are not. Late First Eyes Runt runs ahead of me. I can’t stop her. As soon as she is directly ahead of me, the wing is gone, and we can walk with me in First Eyes with Spotless off the ground suspended between us. That is smarter than my plan. Why did you ever think you were smarter than her? She at least makes Pack everywhere she goes, you just ruin Pack.

We break through the low branches and Spotless becomes snagged, snarling, in twigs. Late First Eyes Runt is not sure what to do. I press her forwards, the only way out of this is to break through and then deal with whatever damage. She goes on, I follow. Spotless becomes quiet. I hope he has passed out rather than Walked. I gently put my end down and shake. I am glad Spotless is not sensible of the jolting movement as Late First Eyes Runt shakes too, without putting her corners down. My ears are ringing from the racket out there; it feels eerie within. The storm is passing on over the land away from the big-saltwater. But the rain continues. The first thing I hear, that is not rain, is Late First Eyes Runt whimpering as she noses at the lump that is Spotless wrapped in a hide. The second is a hoo. I hoo back. Two hoos respond from not far away. Bouncy and Pointy are nearby. All-Spot’s hoo reaches me a moment later.

I think I probably need to do whatever I can for Spotless here and now rather than try to get him to any kind of denning spot. In the nearest empty trail, I put him down. Late First Eyes Runt will not let go of the edges she has in her mouth. I uncover Spotless. He is alive, breathing in short gasps. His eye show he is in and out of awareness. When I was a creche-pup, I once broke my leg and a QD pulled it back into position, then made a splint and attached it with hide. It was not a major break though and a QD is trained in such things. I also have no splints or animal hide I can shape by chewing. Just looking at the angle of his leg makes me feel sick. My Soil parent, Slight Rise, had to hold me down even after they had explained what was going to happen. Spotless might be smaller than I was then, but I have no-dog that would understand the instruction to hold him down. I know that even if you fix a break it can still cause infection. Dogs have Walked anyway. Well this is the only thing I can do. There’s no-dog here to contradict me. Don’t worry you’ll make the wrong decision anyway. You can’t even imagine how badly this could go yet.

I try to find some calm. Late First Eyes Runt is still gripping the hide in her teeth, Bouncy and Pointy have arrived but sit far from us, Bouncy whimpering. I need to keep this under control. It will be hard enough without some unpredictable behaviour from any of them. I need a splint and something to attach it with. I try to remember what we have kept and regret letting Late First Eyes Runt pick up anything unhelpful. I go to Bouncy, who shies away but then lets me approach her. I take off her cache-pouch then go to Pointy who relinquishes hers without protest. I empty them both. I have 3 of the human containers that used to contain water, some leaves, a small piece of soft, porous hide, a sharp leaf, several lumps I cannot identify and some thick artificial vine. I can make a splint out of any reasonably straight stick if it is the right length. How can I attach it? The scrap of hide seems promising, but I have no idea how to use it. I couldn’t tie it with the artificial vine, which is stiff and thicker than Spotless’ tail.

If I could make the scrap into strips, I could tie those. I can’t chew it; it disintegrates in my mouth. I remember how the sharp leaf cut through Late First Eyes Runt’s hide and think, if I could control it, then that would be suitable. It has a blunt end which I ram into the soil. It bounces off. I break the ground under the leaf-dirt with my claws and force it into the hole. I backfill and press the earth down until it seems rigid. I slot the fabric over it from behind, and pull. It cuts the hide in two with a terrible ripping sound. I cut each piece once more to give me something I could work with. The cuts are not even as they begin, but the hide seem to have a fault line in it. The edges send out little hairs and curl back.

I dash around finding the closest I can to some straight sticks. The three conscious canines are following my progress but none of them move. I bring the sticks over to choose. I dismiss those – too wet. Of the remaining half-littersworth^, one is definitely too long. Maybe that one too. That leaves these four. They are all a bit bent. This one seems the straightest. It seems to be a good length for his leg. Possibly a little long, but if I tie it on the outside and get the height right then it should be OK.

All this has distracted me from the next bit. The bit that makes my stomach want to rebel. I glance at his floppy paw extending from a leg I have no idea how I could get straight. As gently as I can, I check for any signs of broken skin. I am pretty sure we won’t win against the infection a cut can create. Thankfully, there is no trace of blood. I am about to grab it when I think I could maybe get Late First Eyes Runt to lie on him like the hide. She might not stay for long, but it might help a bit. I wish I could explain to either of them what I need and what my intentions are. It is strange to think I care what this pack thinks of me, even though they don’t really think in the way I would consider thought.

I persuade her to lie across him. At first, he snarls at us both but soon is insensible again. I guess now is the moment. I lunge forward, grab his leg just above his floppy foot and pull as hard as I can in alignment of the top of his leg, still where it should be. I don’t know which is louder – the crack of his bone moving over itself or his screaming howl. He snarls at us and bites Late First Eyes Runt all over her forelegs and neck. She does not move, somehow something went right for me for a moment. I glance at his leg and see it is basically the right shape. I pull the splint over and try to tie it on. Spotless fights and snaps. Late First Eyes Runt cannot hold him still enough for me to get the splint on. I give up and nudge her off him. He is on his feet, yelps and holds his leg up, straight out in front of him. It is swollen from below the shoulder to his foot. He is in a low defensive position growling. He knows he cannot run but he does not want to approach. The only way to get him back is to let him decide.

There’s more to be done before den. We need to provide, find something suitable to den in and gather this pack. With half the number of Soil-dogs, it would be less than a degree’s Service. Alone, no doubt fighting against these stressed canines, it might take me until nadir. There is at least plenty of potential provision in this wood. I will do that first, then I can scout options for a den as I go. Somewhere not too far from Spotless so he can join with ease but not too close. I can find All-Spot too.

We have not finished the provision yet, Spotless approaches to eat. I have already had to growl All-Spot down from taking the long-ear I left for Spotless. I found All-Spot lying outside the mountain-den snoring. Spotless’s hobbling is terrible and slow, but he slumps down and starts to chew. He is still not himself but reduced to the baseline of fear and pain. Late First Eyes Runt starts to do her new wriggling forward on her belly towards him. I think,

( NO! ) She instantly stops. She approaches Bouncy and the two start to get comfortable. They seem happy to den here, with no protection beyond the wood. Knowing the Damp Hyena exists I feel less comfortable, but I cannot leave them here to be made prey. We are in the lee of one of the human walls. I climb up a short slope and am able to walk out across the top of the wall. There is enough space to lie down. I won’t be deep-sleeping anyway. Spotless is further from the rest of the pack than he should be for one who is injured but he will not tolerate any to approach. His leg looks floppy still and the sound of bone grating on bone is apparent as he tries to get comfortable. He does eventually fall asleep like the others. I sniff him from a distance and cannot smell any infection. I found trees that smell like pain-predator-willows; maybe their bark would give some pain relief like it would on World. But do the plants on World have those powers because Soil-dogs need it? Who knows what humans need. They probably fabricate a sharp cube of metal to prey on their pain.

I guess we will be staying here for a while. In a few days we will know if he is going to Walk. Then I can decide the next step. I let myself sink down, too tired to even hate myself.

Sometime after nadir, when it sounds like hard-rain falling on the leaves, Spotless limps over to Bouncy and Late First Eyes Runt. All things considered, a better day than it could have been.