For the first day in what feels like a season (but I’m sure is no more than a sixth^), we are not being beaten by the wind. The big salt-water seems to generate wind. Cruel wind that cuts through our coats (even Pointy who has the densest fur I have ever groomed). Our journey has been mostly staggering from one shelter to another. We gave up trying to mask our travel. We have had no sign of floaters (how could anything fly in this wind? Even the few birds we have seen look whipped about). Provision has been hard to find; the native fauna seems to be sleeping through this horror. There has been Wilderness rain. And plain rain so cold it burns the skin it inevitably worms its way to. We brought a fair amount of dried(ish) provision but that lasted a maximum of a twentieth. We have eaten everything we can consume including a very thick coated mammal that had obviously been thrown off the cliff by the wind. It had been there for a while and did not smell good. Only Spotless was sick when we ate it, but I would not encourage any dog, even a runt-maker like me, to eat anything like it. Spotless has had the hardest time. He is not heavy enough to travel through the wind; we tie him to Vicious, Late First Eyes Runt^ or me with the human vine (even more useful than I thought it could be). More than once, the tether has gone tight and he has not been able to hold the ground as the wind buffets us all. His wonky walk doesn’t help either. But we are still here and the wind is only brisk today (feeling like the caress of a Soil Parent’s tongue after being jumped by your creche-mates). At least Vicious has stayed with us. He carries a cache-pouch we fashioned from a piece of the less rotted hide of the dead mammal. Every abandoned human dwelling we pass, he requests to be taught how to open portal-covers. He’s too eager, so I tell him to wait until the next settlement not just a single den. When the ever-pups catch hint of a human den, they run to it. We have denned in several human structures to be out of the wind. Most didn’t have portal-covers (even if I had decided to show Vicious their secrets). They are stripped bare like Bare-ment^. Some structures have tiny forests growing in chambers where the roof has collapsed. They are the nicest to rest in, feeling the least alien to my sensibilities. We travelled on the cliff-top at first, to stay near the barrier to know when it ended. But soon enough, we found the foot of the cliff was easier to traverse and had more den options. It hasn’t been cliffs the whole way. We have still become adept at scaling them if there is a likely shelter. I know all the compounds were on one landmass, with narrow separation corridors. We must eventually get to the other species’ compounds. We must have extreme caution when that happens. Every few days I head inland until I find the barrier. I have no idea what is on the other side. It could still be Soil-dogs or it might be tortoises or crows. It is harder and harder to keep in mind there is a wealth of other animals on this world because, for so long, we have not even found prey. We have eaten seaweed left by the strange shifting salt-water. We have eaten grasses, which make the ever-pups vomit often enough. When they have something to vomit. We have eaten bark and roots from the few suitable plants we have found. We are profoundly weary. Having barely heard or smelled anything clearly in a sixth this gentle wind blares the melody^ of scents and sounds to us that have been hidden. I snap back to attention. We will eat well today. He’s right, we could all do with a hunt and decent provision. We should do that first, even if it is nearly zenith. The wind has gone for half a degree^, who knows when it’ll be back again. There’s inevitably better hunting at the top of the cliff, where plant-life is friendlier to native mammals. I spot a good starting point and swerve to go up. I’m still proud when I change course in First Eyes and the Pack match me. Vicious leads. He and I flank the others. Late First Eyes Runt is still tethered to Spotless. Whenever the wind comes back it will be harder to tie him back on. We pick our way up. Together but also free to find our own course where our size, gait etc. might suit a different route. Watching Pack scramble up ahead of me I feel a sense of Pack-pride I don’t think I’ve felt before. Over this hummock. Round that crag. Focus on the grass patches. Wait for Spotless and Late First Eyes Runt. Nudge Bouncy. Haul myself over an outcropping. We are finally on a reasonably gentle slope to the summit. We form up and crest the cliff and onto the plain. There is a huge human settlement. Noticeably abandoned even at this distance. There are tall trees growing out of dwellings and more unfilled holes in walls than I have ever seen from them. The wind is stronger up here. We need to get out of it. Trees! We run to them. I smell provision so strongly, I might collapse. My mouth is watering and my belly is growling. Pack smells ready. We move as one and make prey of a pig^. We eat in total pack-silence. It is zenith. We will sleep.

I surface gently in a pack-glow. It’s a couple of degrees past zenith. I marvel at how quickly one can repair so many endless days of abuse. I stir and set off a pack-reaction of waking, yawning and grooming. I stretch and stand. The wind is negligible under the trees but may still be strong out there. I can smell sweetness, more plants than I have smelled over endless salt. I smell animal life. My belly is still swollen with pig, I still feel a pull towards that scent. The wind must’ve died down to bring back so many scents. Even the wood outside Monu-ment had less variety and nuance. I follow my nose. This little wood is mostly scraggily new growth, joining a few denser patches a packslength round as so many forests are on this world. There is no way to account for the variety of plants I can smell, and this space could not support so much animal life.

This wood could not support the pig we made provision even. I break out of the last of the dense trees and see and smell the settlement. I can smell it. There is no barrier between my nose and it. This settlement does not have floaters or humans and is far enough from the relentless big saltwater to give us some rest. There is prey to be found. I ki as loudly as I can. Pack is around me in a moment, smelling more well than since our journey began. I begin a pack-trot Spotless can maintain to the settlement.

I can’t understand what we’re smelling. We have found no evidence to disprove my first hypothesis that humans have not lived in this settlement for more than 120 cycles. We have however experienced a wide range of novel smells and sights in Sweet-ment. We have walked black-paths broken up by countless saplings with a few slightly older trees, pioneers in piercing the human-lava, leaving crevices for their pack to follow them. The dens here are taller than the huge den in the woods. They have the typical square shapes that humans find the need to plant. They smell very strongly of pollen and activity. I raise my nose to try and pinpoint the familiarity of the scent. What are those? That’s not how humans build. Creepy looming, organic growths bud out of the human-dens. Something is familiar about that but also very wrong.

Spotless and Late First Eyes Runt run over in a cloud of overpowering, disgusting sweetness. They are sticky. What have they– It’s the bees! I didn’t understand the scents and appearance of things I am familiar enough with on World because they are so much more vast.

“I think this is bee-technology, built on ancient human technology.” I still avoid using pack-communication with Vicious, it feels too intimate. Do I even understand intimacy anymore? Did you ever? “Those two are covered in honey and those growths are enormous hives. This must be where the bees were kept. Well, humans have obviously dropped barriers with bees.”

“I wonder who won.” Vicious makes an interesting point. If the humans defeated the bees then it was only a matter of time before they came for Soil-dogs. If the bees took the humans, then they might be content with this world to roam.

“Let’s search for evidence to suggest one winner or the other. But keep quiet. I doubt the best scent-scientist could track us through this cloying stink, but we don’t know if there are humans, floaters or bees here to make us prey.” Maybe the thought of somewhere to den down was too good to be true.

As we round the angular edge of a building, we find where the other two got sticky. A large piece of bee-comb has fallen into the path. It has been impaled on several plants and quivers slightly above the ground. It is strangely shaped on the outside, while preserving the perfect chambers within. It seems natural and constructed at the same time. Viscous, crystalised honey oozes from the pierced chambers but many others are still full. There is a jagged edge on one side where it had cracked or snapped. These new artefacts are confusing and frightening. The ever-pups are keeping close, tails low, ears back, knees bent. No need to test my guidance^. Spotless and Late First Eyes Runt are a mess. They are both getting more and more upset with the leaves, grass and pieces of wax sticking to them. It seemed like fun a moment ago. So does life.

“If the barrier has been dropped, we can go inland and find a place to hunt. The bees can’t be so many they would be impossible to evade.”

“I think you’re right. Anything to be out of that wind for at least a sixth.” He is always so eager to tell me he thinks I am right, when he has told me I am wrong more than any dog. How could I ever trust him? But if you don’t, will you ever feel trust again? “Let’s get out of here before I freak out again.” He chucks at himself, I don’t join him, but Late First Eyes Runt enjoys a chuck even if she doesn’t understand why. Sometimes it seems like her life is more enjoyable than it could be if she had more understanding. You don’t get away with it yet, pup. Then I remember all she will never know she has missed out on. The exhilaration of running with your academy-pack on your first unsupervised mission, Heat, talking until nadir with pack-mates without making a sound, playing scent-pranks on each other, honing her scent-stories.

The wind is coming from Set, I turn to Rise and put Pointy and Vicious in point. We move swiftly and quietly away from the big saltwater into this vast settlement of humans and bees.