“Shall we then?” the Blue Hound asks through their connection, tipping her nose in the direction of the main cavern.

“Before we step out, there’s something else. Last night some washer bears brought me a newborn pup they pulled from the river after they saw a human throwing something in. Aside from the Lurken brother and sister, is anyone missing?”

“The Lurkens?” the folds above the dog’s eyes deepen. 

Nyrun pauses to let the Blue Hound have a quick conversation through her true pack connection (no sigals required among family) before she continues. “I took the pup to a healer and found she was already helping one of your kin, who’d been hit by a truck. Some Obvious took her for healing, and the Lurken brother had tracked her there. We met outside and I promised him I would bring her back, if the Moon sees fit. And I promise you she is in good hands. She is an excellent doctor who specializes in healing beasts of all kinds.”

“A human who heals us, not them?”

Nyrun nods. “I know, it’s strange. She is a little strange but in a sweet way. Full of kindness.”

The Blue Hound thinks on this for a moment. “I will trust your judgment as one chosen by Tuor. None from the Pack are lost; I don’t think this pup is one of ours. You are certain it’s not a Wildling?”

“I’m afraid it may be born of a pet,” Nyrun cringes, unsure how the Blue Hound would react.

She sighs, “The unfortunates, lost from the Moon’s light. May they find their way.”

Frowning, Nyrun debates the merits of letting the conversation drift into Pack spirituality. She mostly knew the basic tenets—they believe the Moon created the beasts, gave them all gifts suited to them, and watches over those who remember its gifts. Forget the Moon, lose the gifts. Dog packs have been returning slowly to the Wild but many remain near the Obvious to a degree that seems, from her outside perspective, as if they were magnetized towards each other. Inseparable despite the one-sided-seeming attraction; a touchy subject for Packs and Colonies alike and she wanted no part of it. Some of Blue’s pack might be leaning more toward the side that idolizes wolves, those that believe the pack-born are the Moon’s most loved, and anyone who found their way to the pack from a human house should eat last. If so, this would make for a rough path for the pup.

“Can the Pack care for an orphaned pup, Leader Blue?”

The dog lowered her head, “We’re losing many to the heat. There’s very little to hunt, and times of scarcity make the hungry seek reasons to exclude the weaker ones and to keep things for their own. I will discuss it with my advisor. Perhaps we can conceal the pup’s origin.”

“Well, let’s see if the pup pulls through. Tuor’s house is under protection, and anyone living within it is cared for by a powerful spirit. Perhaps until the pup grows it can stay with us. If be the Moon’s will, of course.”

The hound cocked her head, “Do you know what happens to a… Ah, no. Let’s discuss this another time. I would be grateful if you took in the Moon-lost whelp. You’ll have my emissary at least until we locate Tuor, keeping watch and as a tie to our Pack. Please, for the pup’s sake, if anyone asks, it is from another pack. Keep their origin between the two of us.”  

“From the one you’re sending with me, even?” 

“I will discuss it with him, and I should make some introductions,” she nods once more towards the main cavern. “Ready?”

“Ah yes, let me just take care of this…” Nyrun says out loud and wipes the sigal from her palm on her hip where there was a bit more intact denim, and follows the Pack’s leader back to her anxious family. 

More heads lift towards them as they enter than had watched them leave, as word had quickly spread through the Western Pack that something was happening as well as the scent of a stranger. Their leader steps onto a naturally flattened stone platform and sits to face the crowd. 

“All! Our honored guest, the Lady Tuor’s Hand, who has been of invaluable assistance for longer than all of you have been under the Moon, is taking up a mission of utmost importance. I’m assigning one of my best to aid her. Crescentia,” she says looking at the brindled Mastiff who’d led Nyrun earlier, “Come, I will catch you up. Vitalis, join us. Everyone else go find somewhere to stay cool. It’s too hot when you all crowd in like this. Off and away,” she dismisses them.

A medium-sized but muscular dog, fawn-colored save for his black muzzle, steps towards them ears folded forward, and long whip of an unsure tail, low. The black puff from earlier steps in front of him as well. 

“Flit, only Tal was called,” growls Crescentia. 

“I go where Vitty goes,” the puff answers. 

Without stopping the Blue Hound asks, “What say you, Tuor’s Hand?”

“Well, I don’t mind if he doesn’t mind,” Nyrun looks at the larger of the two for any sign of an opinion and only gets a silent nod. “Seems fine. And I’m not gonna turn away a chance to make some new friends.” She flashes them a smile that is mostly genuine, but a little bit of a trial. Better to be upfront about her chosen spot in their pack hierarchy. 

Flit breaks into his own wide grin. “Thanks for having me!” With another silent nod, the Black Mouth Cur positions himself between Nyrun and Flit and continues after their leader.

“I apologize in advance for any trouble this one gives you tagging along, but I wanted to send one of our best trackers with you and they’re rarely apart. Vitalis isn’t much of a talker so this is probably for the best,” explains the Blue Hound as the distance between them and the rest of the emptying pack grew to a comfortable size.

“Flit will be on his best behavior,” Crescentia adds. 

“Cres, I am always at my best, because I am the best,” insists the still-grinning ball of fluff. 

“Leader just finished saying Tal is the best,” she snips back.

Nyrun laughs. “Got it, a package deal. Two noses to assist in my search, and to poke about in this business at home. It’s nice to get multiple perspectives, so I think this’ll benefit both of us, Leader Blue.”

Dropping a fist into her other palm, she adds, “And I could use some canine opinions on a few unrelated issues. We can talk about that later. I would prefer to go into the details of the searches in the privacy of Tuor’s place. I suppose you’ll both need some time to prep. I’m assuming you know the way?”

“Tal could find you again in a rabbit’s thump,” the brindled Cres answers for them.

Nyrun smiled a politely closed-mouthed smile, that turned her eyes into amused slits in an attempt to be less horrifying. “How reassuring!”

Cres growls a low, “I would like some reassurance myself.” 

“This is a friendly allyship, Crescentia. We have nothing to fear from one chosen by Tuor,” their leader states firmly, adding, “Deorwine will see you back up to the surface, Tuor’s Hand.” She waves a paw over to a whippet she’d called through their connection. 

“You can call me Nyrun. All of you, that is. I don’t mind.” 

Blue nods, “Nyrun then! I’m looking forward to our next meeting, and reports of your success.”

“Thank you for your help. All of it, Leader Blue. And thank you Deorwine,” she says to him hoping it’s as friendly sounding as intended. 

The quaking from the frail gray Deorwine doesn’t lessen much but he bows his head. “Lady Nyrun, this way.”

Flit’s curled plume of a tail wags quickly. Tongue back out and with some thrilled pants he yips out a “We’ll see you soon, Nyrun!”

She follows the tiny deer-shaped dog back through the winding paths to the outside, knowing they had no idea she could navigate on her own if she extended her sight, let alone move faster on her own. She really doesn’t mind but feels bad about the general anxiety lingering in the cavern thanks to her presence. Every so often pups peek through openings along the walls, their eyes widening as they watch what must seem to them like a predator stalking their packmate. She imagines a resounding sigh of packwide relief as they exit the curtain of the falls and head down the hillside toward town. Bravely the whippet guides her to the end of the Western Packlands. 

As Deorwine exits the small opening in the cemetery wall he jumps a bit finding Nyrun already over it, waiting. “You really didn’t have to see me this far, Deorwine, but I thank you. I was wondering if I could give you this? Turns out I didn’t have to pay a posting fee.” She pulls the peanut butter cookies from her bag, tied in a cloth for easy hand-less carrying, and offers it to him.

“For me?”

“You can share them if you want. The pups will probably like ‘em.”

Noticing his hesitation, she sets it down, takes a step back, and then turns away with a wave. “Enjoy!”

“M-Many more t-tomorrows to you, Lady Nyrun!”

“And many more tomorrows to you, Deorwine!” She moves through the oldest of gravestones, carefully not tripping on iron mort safes hidden within the tall grasses until she rejoins the manicured path of the modern part of the cemetery. A few crows hop along around her, and the sofly glowing shape of a child floats down from the shoulders of a marble angel following her to a bench. Pulling out the thermos from Kika, she dutifully drinks her special brew to the rapt attention of the crows. Ignoring them, she sits in silence with the little ghost at the other end of the bench, until she caps and stows the thermos, to continue on to Church Way. There they part ways with a gentle fizzle as the apparition returns to its angel. 

Setting off to the veterinary clinic, her pulse quickens and her palms are sticky with sweat. As if the dogs’ anxiety somehow transferred. Am I afraid? Of Moira?

Image credit: Canis lupus familiaris, 1700-1880, Iconographia Zoologica, Special Collections University of Amsterdam