We’ve plodded for days and days on the same direct-path. We’ve never followed one route so consistently. I started doing it after Vicious had another strop about something. It’s easier for him to find us again. Then it became easier than making decisions. Unless it turns full South, we will stick to it. Vicious has been increasingly prone to leaving Pack for a day or two as the heat has increased. He has left because of the rattling of the roller-caches, the smell of All-Spot, the energy of Bouncy and being sore at the end of a day of hauling the roller-cache. I have no idea what he does on his own but he no longer feels like a Damp Hyena when I notice him following us. Neither do I feel like he is trying to be in First Eyes. Late First Eyes Runt^ has taught me how to be kinder to him. He’s a dog that needs to come into Pack.

His tantrums leave her distraught. She greets him like a lost pup every time he returns. Sometimes that results in him immediately leaving again but more often than not he lets himself be groomed and covered in her Pack. The ever-pups are mostly wary of him, they don’t understand his anger. They can’t understand how to avoid it. I wish I could tell them that he can’t help it. And they can’t help it. But you could have done. Not then. Maybe now I would have been more careful, but I remember how vile he was. Without me doing that to him I might never heard that he acknowledges his part in making-runt of Late First Eyes Runt. Well as long as your feelings are validated it’s fine that you committed the worst crime against Pack with and then to him.

Why did he left us when we found this direct-path? Oh yeah. We’d found human-style rows upon rows of identical… things. What were they? Metal stalks with wide, flat, tilted canopies aligned with each other. The canopies begun above the grass of the meadow. There were plentiful scrub mice in the meadow. They sort of reminded me of that weird little-wild in Enorm-ment^. I’m sure I could’ve figured out what they were if he hadn’t started complaining about how they were making noises. He couldn’t bear it and we were all idiots for not being able to hear it. If I had two ears, maybe I could’ve confirmed a sound. But there was nothing I could discern and the ever-pups showed no sign of responding. Late First Eyes Runt was in such distress I couldn’t ask her. He left for 4 days after that.

Then he balked at the high-path over a river far too wide for a dog to swim let alone an ever-pup or an ungulate. I have no idea how he eventually crossed the river but it was nearly 6 days before we smelled him again. Each time he leaves, I wonder if he will be coming back at all. Is he walking or Walking? I never know. Thankfully it seems direct-paths tend to go under rivers more often than over. I cannot understand how large humans are. The effigies we’ve smelled of stone or metal range in scale. And their feats extend far beyond the scope of even huge-scale creatures. They burrow under rivers like they’re the true pups of Soil.

There’ve been a few times we managed to fix the upset before he leaves. Like when we reached the widest plain of converging direct-paths. The route directly North^ had regular, human-hewn stones overlaid with long stems of metal (presumably as all direct-paths on. We’ve had a lot of problems with Not-Prey’s roller-cache swaying. Between the stems swaying was minimised and progress was marginally accelerated. She wasn’t happy though, with the lack of plant-provision. Her displeasure was nothing on Vicious’s. He wasn’t even experiencing the jolts of the smaller roller-cache, I was bearing that. He became infuriated at the regular rattles from ahead and behind. He showed all the signs of being unable to tolerate any-dog. I thought what would Late First Eyes Runt do? I kied the Pack. I transferred my burden to Pointy and sent them back while I dealt with Not-Prey. Service responsibility and the minimised rattling seemed to serve. It took me nearly a degree^ to wrestle the roller-cache around the other way between the stems. While negotiating a hungry ungulate munching from the roller-cache! When I caught up with Pack, he was positively chipper to continue with us.

So, what can I learn from that the next time he’s irritable? I feel what has been rising in my mind for a degree or two. A storm is coming. A huge one. Big saltwater storms are the most severe I have ever experienced. We need shelter. There’s a tunnel less than half a degree of decent pack-trot away. Vicious’s mane is standing up stiff. He feels it too, even if his stomach hasn’t told him yet. I can’t think of a time when a storm was a good thing for him. OK.

( Vicious, can you and the fast dogs run to the tunnel up ahead? I’ll bring the smaller dogs, Not-Prey and the roller-caches. There’s a storm coming. I’m sure we’ll all make it in time, but I’d rather ye had a chance to settle down out of it if ye can. )

( I don’t like storms. )

( I know. )

( Well no need to pity me. I have survived worse. I survived you after all. ) So it begins.

( Go now. ) The slower are not alarmed at the faster leaving. This is a common division for Pack. Late First Eyes Runt is the least consistent since she runs with both Packs and has strong feelings about which when. She remains steadily ahead of me as All-Spot, Pointy, Bouncy and Vicious accelerate towards the tunnel. It’s harder to smell though closer than when I last turned my nose that way. Maybe the storm is closer than I thought. I get the emergency Not-Prey luring device and ammunition from my roller-cache. I rig it. It dangles a piece of fruit out of reach. It doesn’t always work. Sometimes she’s surprisingly determined and she gets them and immediately stops. But sometimes it can help a little. The first time was an accident. Vicious in a less than helpful mood had thrown an artificial vine onto our cached provision and Spotless riding along. Spotless kicked it out. The tangled rodent^ dangled from the roller-cache. Almost instantly, the ever-pups were chasing after it, noses down. Vicious (who was hauling) was conscious of staying ahead of Pack increased speed as they did, until he was running flat out away from the ever-pups pulling the carcass apart in victory. There was a lot of experimentation before we had a workable solution.

Spotless climbs into my roller-cache. He now does that as soon as Pack splits. Shouty knows this is her time. She barks at Not-Prey. Not-Prey starts a decent trot. Whether she is also freaked out by the impending storm or realises the importance to Pack, I don’t care. I can’t maintain any faster than this speed. Too fast and Not-Prey will push the direct-path stones apart and sink. I keep a brisk but not too hurried pace. I listen to the others behind me. I feel unnatural leading, not in First Eyes. Late First Eyes Runt is there. Does she understand what that entails? You didn’t bother to teach her. Not helpful right now. I’ll gnaw on my bones about that later.

We won’t make it dry. I am waiting for the deluge even I hear coming across the big-saltwater. Thankfully Not-Prey has continued since she ate the fruit 30 cents ago. If not at the same pace. The wind grows. She‘s grumbling more and more. She wants to get off the path. The first time she did, we weren’t quick enough to prevent her from lying down. Shouty, Late First Eyes Runt and another fruit persuaded her onto her feet again. We haven’t given her enough leeway to do it again. The wind is savagely scoring my skin as though I have no coat. We should get there without being so wet that we cannot get warm for degrees. Over the wind, I hear Not-Prey panicking. I accelerate a little hoping she’ll come with us. We surge forward as a Pack. The tunnel, (even in the wind) smells distinctly empty. Like Damp-Soil sucking on a reed.

I hit something with the roller-cache. It takes off and slams back down. The weight is all wrong. Every bone feels jolted. I have no strength. There’s a grey streak of Not-Prey and Shouty continuing ahead. They veer off the path a packslength away and hunker down under some trees. Fine. When I know I can move, I’ll gather them. I drag myself up against the wind. It’s becoming enough to tether Spotless. The roller-cache thunks into position. It’s too late to tether him. Late First Eyes Runt is dashing towards me. She grabs her trusty hide and runs back.

( No! Late First Eyes Runt, you want the artificial vine. Remember the wind?! ) I struggle free from the tangled straps. Late First Eyes Runt runs down the tumbling ever-pup. She tries to secure him with the hide. I can’t prevent it filling with air and whipping away, dragging Spotless further from her. I run with an artificial vine harder than I have ever run. The wind makes me almost fly. I’m nearly there. I skid near him. I slip a tether round him and secure him to me. I haul him back to Late First Eyes Runt. She has blood pouring from her face. She’s devastated and small. Her lip sags on one side. The smell of iron from her gum where a tooth was. The wind must’ve taken it with her hide. ( I’m sorry. Are you strong enough to help Quick? ) She becomes serious but I still smell the keening pup behind it.

( Yes. ) She takes the roller-cache. It’s been bent in our tumble. She struggles along. I drag Spotless to Not-Prey and Shouty. Pack starts moving. The deluge reaches us.

After a rest to reduce Pack cortisol^, we continued into the tunnel following Pack’s trail. We walked for more than two degrees. The sounds of the storm and slight trickle of rainwater can no longer reach us in this sturdy tunnel. We found All-Spot, Pointy and Bouncy. Vicious didn’t stop. I wish they could tell me what happened. Did he chit them? Or just not stop when they did? We follow his unhinged smelling trail. It gets louder^ as the tunnel smells more and more of the absence of life. Not all tunnels link air and air. Some lead to deep-dens. It feels wrong, but also somehow fitting. To follow this direct-path wherever it goes. Even if that is Wilderness. Surrounded by dependent Pack. That I’ve no idea how I came by. Made-runt by Pack. Chasing one of my made-runts into Damp-Soil.