Shep had roamed in circles all night and all the next sun, desperate to find a trace of Honey’s scent, but he’d had no luck. He’d catch a whiff of her on a scrap of tree bark, but the trail would lead nowhere, or would fade into nothing. The closest he’d gotten was here, on a dock floating in the canal — an old scent, but one suggesting Honey had been foolish enough to cross the canal alone. Why would she do such a thing? Wild dogs? Shep lifted his snout at the thought. No, Great Wolf, please. Had they found her? Shep sniffed the water — no scent but the slime of chemicals on the surface. A tree was jammed into the wall of the canal not far from where he stood. Shep padded over to the edge of the dock, then hopped onto the tree. It gave under Shep’s weight and he wavered on his paws, but regained his balance. The surface of the water was pocked by the drizzle and the only sound was the soft plash of rain. He crept along the tree trunk, out into the canal. The rain-dimpled surface made it hard to watch for any water lizards below, but hopefully it also hid him and any ripples he sent across the water from them.
