The sky ahead had darkened to a grayish blue, but there was still enough light for her to make out the terrible wounds in the earth. She skirted them widely whenever she caught sight of one, her fur bristling, her heart pounding. The scars were scratched deep in the ground, and some plunged so far down into blackness, Sweet couldn’t make out where they ended. They were jagged and horrible, as if some monster had dug its claws into the land and torn out its insides. And a monster had done just that, Sweet realized in horror. The Big Growl had inflicted these dreadful wounds. Poor Earth-Dog. She must be in such pain. . . . Sweet’s nostrils twitched. Ahead of her there was the smell of old and dead fires, like the cold remnants of a forest blaze, but fainter. She could only press on, but she moved with much more caution now, her eyes peering ahead into the dimming twilight. Old cinders and ashes were not the only scent that reached her. There was a frightening tang, strong but fading, of longpaws.
