Her paw pads hurt, more than she thought they should, and her appetite was dampened by the sinking sense of failure in her gut. The dogs had tried their luck at a few more likely spots, but the rabbit warren in the hollow really had been their best chance, and by the time the Sun-Dog was loping down the sky, they had caught little more: a gopher, a couple of voles, and a skinny rabbit Storm suspected had been ill anyway. Long shadows lay across the camp by the time they returned, making golden stripes through the trees that glinted on the freshwater pond. Storm’s heart lifted a little as she carried her rabbit to the prey pile beneath the two trees in the camp’s center. Bella had taken out another hunting patrol and they’d come home with their own catch—not much better than Storm’s, but together the two patrols had found enough to feed all the dogs. Storm felt a tide of relief; at least her first day leading a hunting patrol wouldn’t end with a hungry, discontented Pack. Across the glade she could make out the golden shape of Lucky, sprawled with his mate—the Alpha, Sweet—and the white-and-black Farm Dog Moon.
