It has barely been light enough all day for me to tell when the Set hunting-degree^ began. We have been travelling slowly. I could have cleared the settlement, without trotting, in a degree (even the weird short degrees that come with the terrible weather) but with a pack of tired, confused, dogs who cannot understand they need to be travelling in a direction, we have not covered much ground. Despite the massive age of the settlement, it seemed more compact than the previous, contained to a hill. As soon as we were away from the settlement, I kept far from anything a human may have ever touched. The land here seems to mostly be young forest, very few large trees but a large number of small trees and the underbrush is huge and dense. There are still patches of grass (which cannot thrive under dense tree canopy).

We are wandering at night-time, hiding in the day-time. I have no idea if we need to still be using this kind of stealth but at the very least, the degrees at night are longer and we have more travel time. Spotless is still slow, but he seems much more cheerful. He is suffering both me and Late First Eyes Runt^ to approach him. He shows no signs of a bone infection which makes me wag more than I thought it would. I want to get away from this place, but I have found it difficult to navigate. I know none of the terrain, I have lost my useful directional hearing, the weather is confounding to my nose and eyes and of course you are useless and cannot be counted on as First Eyes to this pack. The landscape smells completely undifferentiated. If you had been paying attention sooner maybe you could use the sun to help you to navigate! I cannot use the night-Sun to navigate. After two nights of following it I realised I was about to head back into the settlement!

We need to make progress tonight. I want to find some real tree-cover. Then I can start seeking somewhere for us to settle. I have started trying to subtly scent-mark way points, so I know if I am looping back. I hope that the giant cat and the floaters aren't following us by scent. There are probably a whole range of terrifying predators here that would think nothing of eating a dog. The only reason the ever-pups are still alive could be that the predators were trapped Outside. Now, because you can't stop yourself, you are all stuck Outside with the horrors the Damp-world has for you. Forest will make it harder for floaters to find us. I can smell a large body of fresh water. The settlement was by big-saltwater so I think it's the best option we have of a definite place to go.

I wah-ki call. At least I gained that from that experience. The wah-ki has filled a niche that the hoo call I taught them did not. I am intrigued by the other calls I heard. I have used the chit call a few times and, while Pointy will immediately freeze, I do not have the success I have with wah-ki. They gather, showing their excitement and eagerness to travel. They seem to be unrelentingly excited by wah-ki, even when they are exhausted. I must lead, but Late First Eyes Runt has been taking up First Eyes most nights and, while she cannot make decisions, she is getting pretty good at recognising when one is needed and calling me. I have tried, in the days when I am jolted out of shallow-sleep, to reach out to her sleeping mind with the pack-bond, but it seems to be one-way. I sometimes hear her; I sometimes don't. I don't even know if she is controlling it and sending me communication or if there is a constant stream of communication that I only receive some of.

The land here is steep, which is part of how we have become lost and confused. Each valley smells the same somehow, except for the amount of saltwater, when it is distinguishable (when the rain has decided to den for a degree). We march. I keep us to the densest patches of growth and the strongest smelling areas. I am sure if I had a scent map of the area, I would discover we are not going directly to this big-water.

I keep my nose out for any potentially easy prey. I haven't needed to provision until last Rise as we denned. We finished the ungulate^ the night before. It was strange to hunt in the Rise hunting-degree but eating like a Set, immediately before sleep. I smell occasional musky scents from the big-cat or her mate. I can also smell a few tiny wafts of Damp Hyena. At first, I thought Damp Hyena was the cat. Of course you did, you are dangerously dismissive of reality. I store that as a thought for a warm dry den. Wind has whipped away nearly all life leaving jutting stones and patches of spiky, startlingly beautifully-scented, shrubs. We have no choice here but to cross the flank of this hill exposed. I put my head into the wind and strike out to the first bush.

We are almost across the exposed patch when a distant boom comes. They raise their ears (my muscles flex but move nothing). We flatten ourselves. The ever-pups start barking. Late First Eyes Runt is both barking and screaming into my mind.

( WHAT?WHAT?WHAT?WHAT? ) I wah-ki. I have their attention. The second boom is even louder. Life explodes from the shrubs, more than I thought could fill them. The sound of wings beating into the air comes from every plant. It is coming from the direction I think the human settlement is in. Maybe this is part of their floater activity. Maybe it is part of them searching for us. Maybe this is a new form of terrifying weather that even disturbs local fauna. We need shelter. I wah-ki, hoo and bark. They turn to me. I run. They follow, Spotless making high-pitched squeals as his leg tangles underneath him or in his splint. We enter the treed area as the third one happens. Where the birds fled on the first and second, the third scares rain from the trees. Dens of all kinds in all directions reek of fear, not because of pack-presence but the booming that feels like a blow to every chest.

We hunker down in the roots of a tree and wait. When the fourth boom comes, I suddenly smell a strange dog. A Soil-dog. No, it is not a stranger. It is the only thing worse. The ever-pups smell it too. They cower into the dirt. An intense burst of howling, yipping and screaming comes from further into the woods. I will it away, but it continues and continues. Past the next boom. Late First Eyes Runt stands and heads towards the noise. Even when she is terrified, she is a better dog than you. I follow her, attempting the drawn out eɪ^ call the floater used to freeze Pointy. None of them show signs of hearing it but they won't be going anywhere. At least they are not barking anymore. They are pressed to each other, a mass with 4 heads. I follow Late First Eyes Runt to her litter-mate. They have the same whelper, after all. Get that word out of your head, what you did to them was not whelping. You know the word for what you did.

The sounds of distress have not ceased. Late First Eyes Runt is standing back from Vicious Set, who thrashes and howls, his eyes rolling, his scent coming randomly in waves of emotions. She looks to me, goes to him and lies over him. Just like with Spotless. She thinks we can fix it. I don't know what's happening, but I know I caused it. He is not snarling at her, but he is thrashing and confused. He is not in control of himself. I see him as the made-runt he is now. I pity him. I consider Late First Eyes Runt pinning him, trying to help. She is not ruined. She might not be able to serve Pack, but she wants Pack and makes Pack. All thoughts of why and how he could be here don't seem to matter. We are Outside, the only three Soil-dogs. We are Pack, whether this is a Pack I would choose. Whether this is a Pack either of them can serve. We are Pack. At a loss of what to do, I go and lie over Vicious next to Late First Eyes Runt. That's what the ever-pups are doing in their fear. By the tenth boom, Vicious is still and breathing calmly. We begin to groom him. He transitions at some point to sleep, so he does not hear the twelfth boom.

I wait a few cents^. There is no more boom. The forest calms gradually around us. Vicious is deep-sleeping as though he just learned how. Late First Eyes Runt is whimpering in her throat and the bond-communication that gets through (Not together, not together) remind me that the ever-pups are Pack, not just a pack. I hoo call and I hear hoos in return. They eventually appear, stumbling together, nervous but mostly tired. They are mistrustful of Vicious, but Late First Eyes Runt draped over him is enough for All-Spot and Bouncy. Me being draped over him is enough for Pointy. Spotless is still not sure of us, but Pack has decided so he settles with them.

We have barely travelled past nadir. There are a lot of good degrees ahead of us to use. But maybe we can rest for now. Whatever that sound was, has probably distracted every creature on this world. Maybe Pack can rest. We will keep travelling, but not tonight. I want to run some adrenaline^ off and go to provide alone, leaving the others enjoying experiences that unite us across species and world, gentle, warm contact. I will use fear trails to find something.

When the ever-pups and I have fed and groomed, I groom the still sleeping Vicious. He starts awake briefly throwing up his scent-mask in fear. He becomes Damp Hyena. I feel the tingling of thousands of insect feet in my fur. Maybe he was mocking me this whole time. I find it difficult to sleep with Damp Hyena in my nose. How apt was that name? What am I doing? Probably the wrong thing.