Inside the kennel-that-moves, everything was dark. The pack leader could hear the scrabbling of claws and feel the sleek pelt of the dog next to him, but he could see nothing. Dog scent filled his nostrils, and beyond that the smell of the burned forest.
The pack leader sat uncomfortably on the vibrating floor until the kennel-that-moves bounced to a halt. Outside, he could hear Man voices. He understood some of the words. “Fire . . . keep watch . . . guard dogs.”
The pack leader picked up the Men’s fear-scent, along with the bittersweet smell of cut wood. He remembered coming here the night before, and the night before that, more than four paws’ worth of nights. He had prowled the compound with the rest of the pack, sifting through the scents for intruders, ready to drive them away.
The dog snarled softly, his lips drawn back from sharp teeth. The pack was strong. They could run, and kill. They craved warm blood, and the terror-scent of prey before it died. But instead they were penned up, they ate the food the Man threw to them, and they obeyed the Man’s orders.
The dog rose to his powerful paws, rattling the doors as he butted them with his massive black-and-tan head. He lifted his voice in a bark that sounded all the louder in the confined space. “Out! Pack out! Out now!”
