Echo and Addi
The snow is now gone, and Shyla no longer runs with us.
Boss stayed with her, at the rear of the pack, letting Addi lead. We kept away, hoping, but with each warming day, the smell of death grew, until Shyla fell and lay twitching.
Boss took her away in the long shiny box and Shyla never returned, but her death clung to the pack, and Boss would often slow as we walked, lifting her flat muzzle to the sky. Once she fell onto her four hairless paws, howling in pain.
Something was wrong with Hunter as well. We no longer ran along the edge of the Great Salt after each waking. Instead, he was often gone until Pale Sister rose, so I would prod Quiet Voice into motion instead, whenever she sickened and stared at the lit box, which was too often.
Quiet Voice did not have a stick, and I kept her close, so if others came hunting, they would understand we were of the same pack.
It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes, Tony and Penny ran with the pack. Those were the very best days and it nearly filled the empty space on my blanket.
Still, every so often, it is perfect. I get up, shake, eat, and Hunter and I again roam the edge of the Great Salt, sniffing for furred fish.
But with this brightening, this waking, I can no longer follow the furred fish up their wallow to the top of the high cliffs.
Because I just did…
… and now I am falling…