The buzzer compound is almost empty. Many dogs have served long days to make this happen. We are so proud of our pack. Fierce and Swift were right to encourage mixing and denning in-pack. While there is still an amount of aloofness from certain dogs (who have smelled more cycles than we, but don’t have the notches), the new recruits have thrived with the pack-solidification. All-Pack Guider^ No-Eyes First Eyes Runt^ Rise’s dogs are not amongst those who hold themselves separate. They are now fully integrated.

We walk through the now hollow buzz-structure. It is warped and distorted. The rapidly made structures seem to wither without buzzer attention. In the Set light, the semi-translucent walls glow, showing uneven thicknesses in each panel. The last day of the full research-pack is coming to a close. From now, our tiny notch-pack will continue investigations of the littersful of remaining, potentially dangerous, buzzer weapons. The rest of our pack will be temporarily relocated, both to the buzz-tech research centre to provide muscle (the huge number of artefacts are in constant need of shifting between sun and research spaces and storage) and to CT-HQ to relieve the staffing pressure there. Some dogs (from the crow compound in particular) have had sicknesses. There have been quite a few of our own pack who have returned to CT-HQ to be tended by QDs^ there.

We three stand on the ridge above the den-plain, basking in the true Pack we’ve developed. They’ll return to us when the top-secret Service is completed. We’re determined to make the most of these last few degrees^ with our full pack. As one, we set off down to join our pack.

A cluster of the youngest are discussing something in quiet murmurs. Swift and I join as part of our, now nightly, routine of being amongst pack and sharing their experiences.

“Agile First Eyes Rise, from over in the monkey compound, told me they found alien made-runts wandering around the compounds, investigating the human artefacts.” He pauses and glances to us. We sit amongst his small but captivated audience, he continues, “They approach and follow researchers and bother them at provision. They eat in shifts (even though they are fewer than we) so they can guard against these “dogs” who, with a surplus of wild-prey, would rather wait for discarded, un-cached provision than fend for themselves.”

This is not the first time we’ve heard this, including from Curly Rise, my counterpart in the ape compound. Each compound has brought its own challenges to research, and these abominations seem to be the challenge caused by apes. The tortoises left no evidence but scat, so no-dog has any idea of what challenges they might present (the tortoise research pack was disbanded and relocated in days). The crow researchers (flappers) are not only experiencing losses due to sickness, but most of the evidence is out of reach of dogs seeing as these birds did not have the decency to plant their structures in climbing-trees (they disbanded barring some climbing experts). We sent 4 dogs gifted at climbing to help. Their reduced pack serves on. They’ve only successfully entered one structure and found nothing but feathers. The octopus researchers are likewise stymied by the lack of accessible evidence since dogs do not swim, compounded by a littersful of cases of sickness. We and the human researchers seem to be the only packs bringing in useful data.

We stay, listening to their chit-chat for a few more moments, before strolling onwards. Fierce is going solo tonight. We’ve found travelling as a three limits conversation no matter what we do. Swift finds it hard to be away from both of us, so Fierce and I take it in turns to rove solo while the other travels with Swift. She has become more reliant on us both (and Scrawny) than she was. She’s able to keep up, but she’s more and more tired when we den and, despite far more degrees’ sleep than a dog would expect to get, she continues to be tired in the Rise.

We approach the next dogs. We catch the end of one of One Spot First Eyes Rise’s great scent-stories. He has a real ability to create scent-imagery. I feel Swift’s genuine sadness at missing the beginning. The story crescendos^ with a flurry of scents of dark, harrowing, fear; salty metal at the back of the throat and sweet success. His whole audience releases a breath. We pant together as our heart rates slow. One Spot First Eyes Rise then shares a bawdy scent of Heat and fucking an experienced dog in moist fields. The older dogs who have experienced a Heat-dose let out low chucks. Swift sends the bawdy part on to Fierce who returns a flash of desire. They’ve obviously had conversations I wasn’t privy to.

The pack begins to groom in pairs and threes while muttered conversations spring up. Tonight, den-packs are more mixed. Dogs’re making memories with dogs they will not smell for a while. Pack will keep pack-bonded together, so any-dog who has not yet committed to others is regretting their caution when faced with lack of known pack for at least a season.

Wisdom First Eyes is in this den-pack. He is a different dog now. Scrawny and Swift have served diligently treating his sickness, but he should have long ago joined others, similarly afflicted, at CT-HQ. Not that they have all fared well. We heard, only yesterday, that Jolly Set, a strong and disciplined warrior who ran alongside us into the human enclosure has died from her buzzer-infection. No-dog has recovered thus far, though not all have Walked. Wisdom First Eyes wags to smell us regarding him. He’s so grateful it hurts to observe his wasted legs under his baggy hide. Swift approaches and grooms him. He grooms her back but is stiff and finds it difficult to maintain a mutual grooming pose and returns to a relaxed seated position, wagging all the while.

I know Swift is sorry to be losing Wisdom First Eyes. He’s finally returning to CT-HQ tomorrow, to the increasingly large den-complex dedicated to treatment and care. I withdraw from the pack-bond to give them some privacy. Swift sends thanks as Fierce is guided by pack. In our direct pack-bond, Fierce and I check in, as we do each night, on how Swift is managing.

( She is stronger than any with the sickness. ) I thank Soil and World that Swift is not withered like Wisdom First Eyes.

( She is that. I’m sure it is something to do with buzzer-paste. But she’s had the most exposure and is the least sick. And why would the flapper and squelcher researchers also be getting sick? ) Fierce is more determined than either of us to figure out the cause of the sickness. I just want to prevent our Swift from becoming the pouch of bones Wisdom First Eyes is now. She has not lost condition yet. She just seems completely unable to rest. Swift doesn’t have the energy to ask questions. Though she has never faltered in her care of our pack or Pack.

( What else is there to try? She’s not getting better, just not worse. ) I can’t think about it too long, though I think about it often. ( She’s tried every medication we have and even some experimental mixtures from QPG Stout First Eyes Rise. Now we’re back down to us four, maybe we will get a chance to let her rest more. )

( I’ll help where I can.... ) The jolt from Fierce down the pack-bond hits the one I sent. We know it’s Scrawny but, although he has been developing a little pack-bond with us, he’s never communicated or participated in any of our communication before. We assumed we were more aware of him. Not that he could eavesdrop all those many conversations and thoughts and (what did he think of Swift and Fierce sharing that bawdy scent?) all the tactical discussions we’ve shared?! Swift glanced up at our reactions, feeling it even though we’re not directly communicating with her. She isn’t surprised. She knew or at least suspected Scrawny was in our pack-bond. She scents amused at my disgruntled scent. She drops into the pack-bond.

( I am going to spend tonight with Wisdom First Eyes. Feel free to occupy yourselves, I will den here tonight. ) And she is gone.

I want to meet Fierce privately but I’m now worried to send a pack-image in case Scrawny thinks he’s invited. I think for a moment and send Fierce an image of searing pain in her neck. She sends a brief,

( Yes, Notch ) – the formality strikes me.

I have slowly made my way through our pack, stopping with den-packs to attend their scent-stories, weigh in on debates and show caring for those saddened by this ending, reminding them we will be reunited soon enough. Fierce and I are converging on the point where Swift and I helped Fierce get free of the metal vine after The Cleansing. Where we truly became Pack, before Scrawny sidled in, as is his way.

We reach each other and instantly start grooming. Time to use old-fashioned sound and scent to communicate,

“When did he sneak in? The coyote!^” The term is semi-affectionate from her.

“I’m not sure, but Swift wasn’t surprised. I suppose we have denned with him for nearly a season and even holding back from it, a pack-bond was bound to emerge.” Now I think about it, I realise how stupid it was to not have noticed this sooner.

“I didn’t want to shut him out forever… just, there were some things I was hoping we would get to do in private.” She drops onto her belly and I start to groom her scar on her neck, we both think of the last time we were here, grooming.

“Yeah, but I guess, as of tomorrow, we will be relying on him to keep us alive. It’ll be the four of us again, against the vast temptation of buzzer-paste.” She smells so safe and warm. Of Pack. She is everything in my nose for a moment. I forget Swift and Scrawny and our pack to whom we have First Eye’s responsibility. Forget that we will be alone again tomorrow. I let my nose fall onto her side and bury it under her warm flank. She grooms my head and ears. I let the comfort send me to sleep. I don’t let my mind snap me back to my responsibility. Not tonight.

I start awake. Sun is still sneaking out some rays over the horizon. They are not yet sleeping. I am no longer sleeping. Neither is Fierce. I feel into the pack-bond. Swift is turning in her sleep but Scrawny has also just bolted awake. Now I know to search for him, I can find him like a lone pup, quietly observing.

( What woke us? ) Fierce is a little panicked.

( I don’t know, it’s probably just some-dog going where they please. A lot of dogs are restless tonight. Scrawny – ) If, he’s in this then we might as well use our bond to the full service of Pack. ( Is everything alright there? )

( I can’t smell anything untoward. I’ll have a small stroll and check if there’s any-dog who has observed anything. ) He’s still quiet. I wonder if he is as quiet to Swift, they have a deeper bond.

( We will return to pack now and we can keep a nose on the situation. ) Fierce and I do not stop to groom the sleep from our coats. We return to the denning-plain at a brisk, but not panic-confirming, pace. We try to put thoughts of possible danger from our minds. After all, there are no dangers here anymore. Some of the flightier pack-trainees have claimed to have caught fishy smells or heard buzzing at night and one even claimed to have found a human footprint in the compound tunnel. I have had to, multiple times, explain it’s common for inexperienced warriors to be hyper-sensitive. They put together smells in ways that don’t actually make sense and if they investigated further, they would find the explanation. Afterall, the footprint turned out to be a smeared dog-print on top of a mark from uneven bark on a roller.

We are back to the plain as Sun finally sinks into Their mate to renew. Everything smells and sounds peaceful. There are a few dogs awake but they are not behaving unusually, just stretching sore limbs or walking off night-walks. Fierce and I slowly walk through the mostly sleeping pack. Silky and I share a moment of acknowledgement, he seems restless tonight. We meet up with Scrawny,

( I can’t smell anything awry or hear anything that could be predators or strangers. ) He is whispering like he’s trying to be secretive. We three settle by a large den-pack. We groom. I feel affection growing for Scrawny. He is not a warrior, but he is prepared to serve Pack when he knows how. I do not let myself deep-sleep.

I am disturbed. I take a heartbeat and realise it’s just Scrawny’s night-walks that his legs don’t know they’re not contributing to.