Second	Second

 by Shay Sheridan

  

 

 Disclaimer: 

 Author's Notes: Thanks again to the RSY bunch for comments and to authors
whose work I admire for their kind emails about my previous stories. I
hope they like this one, too. 

 Story Notes: Spoilers for much of season 3, plus snips of VS, the Deal,
JIB and others. And before anyone takes umbrage, remember: they never
called Turnbull "Renfield" on the show. 

 

 

 SECOND
 by Shay Sheridan  

 QUESTION. 

 Second is unhappy. 

 I chide him, push and growl at him, try ignoring and then crowding him,
bullying him into play. He gives me food, as he should, answers me in
monosyllables when I summon him, and then recedes into himself. 

 This is not right. He should obey me. MUST obey me. I am First, after
all, and first means Leader, and though he challenges my leadership often,
he knows he is still Second and I am First. 

 Why is he unhappy? 

 This unhappiness did not come suddenly. I've been noticing it for some
time. He plays less and less, seems disinterested in normal conversation.
He makes little sighing noises. He eats less than usual, and is clearly
distracted; once he forgot to open the outside door for hours and hours
and I nearly humiliated myself in the den, I had to urinate so intensely.
Huh. Would have served him right if I chose his bed on which to relieve
myself. Believe me, I considered it. 

 I don't think Second is sick - he doesn't smell sick. Just unhappy. 

 Maybe I'll let him play First for a while. That usually perks him up. I
can really play the part, if I say so myself, barking happily when he
calls me "Diefenbaker" or "Dief," those absurd, meaningless names. My real
name, the one my mother gave me, is Snow Hunter, and he knows that. I wish
he'd call me that. 

 But he never does. 

 Stubborn, that's Second. 

 I spoke to Third about it the other day, but as usual he pretended not to
comprehend what I was telling him. This posturing from Third is growing
very old, indeed, and I predict that sooner or later he and I will have to
have it out. After all, he is a late addition to our pack, and I will not
have insubordination from him. 

 I suppose I should call him "Blue-Eyed Third" to differentiate him from
our absent pack mate, "GreenEyed Third," who has left to start another
pack somewhere, I imagine. He should; he always had an eye for the
females. Second was very surprised when we returned from visiting our old
hunting ground and found Green-Eyed Third gone. Maybe that's when he
started getting unhappy. 

 Although, I have to admit, I like Blue-Eyed Third. He's fairly easygoing,
if rather noisy. He doesn't challenge me for dominance as Green-Eyed Third
used to do (not that he had much success with that). Blue-Eyes has readily
accepted that he's subordinate to me; though, amusingly, he hasn't
accepted his status in relation to Second. Our new Third likes to
challenge Second a lot, which always makes me laugh. Anyway, we have fun
playing, Third and I, despite Second's recent moodiness. He doesn't live
with us, but in his own den, a place with fascinating smells and a shelled
thing that I plan to get my claws on one of these days. They're very
tasty, once you pry them out of their shells. Third will probably make a
lot of noise when I do that, so there's something hilarious to look
forward to. 

 This new Third I liked almost from the start (as I did the last one, but
for different reasons). The very first day Second and I met him he saved
Second's life, which impressed us both very much. What Second didn't know
is that Third walked around the rest of the day in a fair amount of pain.
He didn't say anything about it, and Second didn't guess, and I didn't
tell him. But I knew. Pretending not to be hurt is a valuable skill in
every hunting ground, because you never know what may be hunting YOU. 

 That's when I made him our new Third. 

 For a while, I think having Blue-Eyed Third around made Second a lot
happier. I confess my opinion may have been swayed because he gives me
much better food than Second usually provides. 

 Also, he is easier to intimidate. In fact, the other night I merely had
to bark at him and he froze in his tracks. It was absurdly simple. That
never works with Second. 

 Third doesn't seem to notice Second is unhappy. Well, what can you
expect? He doesn't have the advantage of coming from our old hunting
ground. He's from here, the new territory. He isn't well traveled. Like we
are. He's far less sophisticated. 

 But as for Second.... I wonder if that has something to do with it -
maybe he misses our old territory. I confess that sometimes I do. But I'm
a lot more flexible than Second. A First has to be. 

 It's a mystery, this unhappiness. I will have to get to the bottom of it.


 Oh - here comes Last, carrying that hot liquid he and Second like to
drink. I think I'll bark at him and see if I can make him drop it.  

 SNAPPING. 

 There is a lot of tension and biting among us, particularly between
Second and Third, though I admit I've done my share of it. 

 They've gone through this before. 

 They're always in dominance battles, but usually what happens is more
like general snapping. Third will say something loud, Second will correct
him, Third will growl back more loudly. Or Second does something like
licking an interesting ground thing, Third insults him, Second insults him
back, and Third has to think about it until he realizes he's been
insulted. Stupid, both of them, but predictable. I usually don't have to
reprimand them. 

 This is pretty bad. And different. Different because of Second. 

 Third actually struck Second. Any wolf - any DOG! - knows that if that
happens, you must attack back, or risk losing position. But Second didn't
respond that way. He didn't even snap back. I know Second has odd ways of
responding sometimes, but this is ridiculous. At times like this I look at
him and think, "Freak." 

 Now Second is walking around like someone stole his kill, yet he isn't
willing to fight for it. 

 As for Third - well, I haven't seen him much the last day or two, but
when I do, he doesn't seem happy, like he should be for winning dominance.
He looks... 

 Lost. 

 I just don't know. I just wish they'd cut it out, because it's ruining
the pack order.  

 LATER. 

 How dare they! 

 The two of them disappear for a couple of days, just up and disappear,
and the next thing I know they're back smelling of lake, seemingly back in
their regular order. 

 No one tells me anything.  

 FEMALES. 

 Frankly, I think the problem with all of us is we need mates. 

 Of the three of us, I'm the one who's been with a female most recently.
What a wild time that was, when I met her! Just to prove how ridiculous
the two of them are, at the end of it all Second had a severely injured
back, Third was picking glass out of his hide, and I had sex. 

 That's why I'm First. 

 All right, I confess it; I'm a lot more lax about letting my subordinates
take mates than most Firsts. I find it keeps order better if they're less
tense. Problem with Second is, he seems to get more tense around females. 

 Anyway, as for my last mating - that "Ante" - what a girl! Funny. Her
real name is Tough One, but her Second doesn't seem to get that, so she
gave Tough One a silly name and keeps dragging her to smelly places to get
absurd hair cuts. Tough One was mortified, what with that silly pouf on
top of her head. I tried not to make fun of her. Take it from me - females
don't take it kindly if you make fun of their hairstyles. 

 She was great to mate with, though, that's for sure. I was exhausted for
days. Second mocked the way I kept lying around afterwards, and I had to
snap at him to make him shut up. Hey - I'm not as young as I used to be.
I'd like to see him go at it the way I did. 

 Actually, I would like to see him do that, but he's resistant. 

 Tough One and I had this plan, but it didn't work out. Her Second seemed
very interested in my Second, which would have made it simple to merge our
packs. But in his usual confused way, my Second rejected her. Hasn't he
learned ANYTHING from me? Frankly, I thought she was quite lovely, what
with that yellow hair. I confess that always attracts me, though I'm not
sure her hair was authentically yellow. How nice it would have been to
have her - and Tough One, of course - living with us all the time. 

 Unfortunately for pack unity, my Second keeps coming close to mating, but
usually veers off at the last moment. 

 What a waste. 

 As for Third, he has a mate, or rather HAD one, in another pack, but she
seems unwilling to mate with him again. Was he that bad at it? Clearly she
was dominant to him in that pack. All I know is, he gives off interesting
smells when she's around, and so does she, to my amusement. But he doesn't
challenge her or try to mate with her. In fact, he acts more like a Last
when she is near. 

 Clearly he needs help. 

 They both do, he AND Second. 

 I remember a few season cycles back - back when we had Green-Eyes as
Third. Second had a female then, but only briefly. Funny - he seemed
wildly happy and deeply sad, all at the same time. Green-Eyed Third did
not like Second's female, and was relieved when she left. That was one of
the few times Green-Eyes and I were in complete agreement. Personally, I
was more than happy to see her turn tail and run away. What followed was a
very, very bad period for Second, for Third, and, I suppose, for me as
well. But the details don't need exploring at this juncture. 

 She must have hurt Second more than Green-Eyed Third and I realized at
the time, because since then Second hasn't taken a mate. That's far too
long, if you ask me. 

 Move on, I tell him. 

 I've tried luring females to him, dark-haired, as he prefers, but I guess
they don't smell right, or he's too picky, or something. I have no idea
what the problem is, except maybe this timidity he has with females. It's
not that he's not interested - I can smell that he is. I tried joking with
him, telling him there's no need to take it all so seriously, you don't
need to choose just one, just mate with them all, you don't have to mate
for life, but he looked horrified, as if I'd suggested he mate with a cat.


 Maybe it's cats he prefers. I sort of like that little lithe dark-haired
female who keeps rubbing up against him at the place we go to meet Third.
She's a little cat-like, even a little screechy like a cat. They'd
probably have a better chance if Third left them alone together, but he
keeps getting in between them. He has no patience with her and it rubs off
on Second. 

 On the other hand, I have to admit that she'd probably never give Second
any time to himself if they mated. She has that look about her, that
"I'm-making-plans-for-your-entire-life-so-don't-get-anyideas -of-your-own"
look. We're far too independent for females like that, Second and I. We
need our space. Tough One knows the score. She's fairly independent that
way, too. 

 There was a Female With Pups sniffing around Second a while back. She
seemed decent, I suppose, though not my type. I suppose it would have been
all right, if it had made Second less unhappy, but frankly I feared I
might have to kill those pups if she stayed. They were HORRIBLE! One of
them pulled my tail. I probably would have eaten them. 

 I didn't tell him that. 

 Now of course there is also that female who comes in to share our den
every day. I refer to her as "First Among Firsts," because that's how she
acts. To be honest, I worry about ever having a dominance battle with her
- I hate to admit it, but she'd probably win. If she mated with Second, I
know I'd end up subordinate to both of them. 

 Poor Second. He really has no idea how to deal with First Among Firsts. I
understand. She throws hungry sounds and powerful mating smells at him,
flashes her eyes, and then bites him. Well, acts like she's about to bite
him. Snaps at him. Tries to make him cower. She makes Last jump and cower
all the time. Mostly it's amusing, though I feel sorry for him sometimes -
and part of me resents her making Last cower. He's not in her pack - he's
in MINE. 

 At least Second doesn't act like Last when he's around her. Or like Third
does when he's near his old mate. 

 Hmmmm. Interestingly, Third is not as intimidated by First Among
Firsts.....hmmmm.....maybe I can get THEM to mate. He REALLY needs sex.
Maybe then he'd be quieter. 

 Good idea. I'll get to work on it. 

 But it doesn't help Second.  

 BREEDS. 

 Most everyone assumes my father was a wolf. Well, it's not true. 

 He was a part Alaskan husky, part Malamute. He'd been running wild for
most of his life, living on the edges of rural villages, getting handouts
and stealing food where he could. He was kind of a roughneck in his youth,
so I was told, and based on how he was as a father, I'm not surprised.
That dog could BITE when he was annoyed, which was most of the time.
Didn't much care when he ran off. Really - sorry you had a rough
childhood, Dad, but get over it or see someone. Don't take it out on us. 

 My mother was the classy one of the pair, which is interesting, because
she was the wolf. Not really sure what she saw in him, but suffice to say,
he was in her territory, she was in season, he smelled good to her, and
here I am. 

 Everything I know about hunting I learned from her. She was tough, but
fair, and very, very smart, with thick white fur and soulful green eyes
that always knew the score. It was impossible to put anything over on her.
She was a great teacher, and she knew when it was time for me to go out on
my own. 

 Remember when I said that I'd also liked Green-Eyed Third right away when
I met him? Well, his eyes reminded me of my mother's. I know, it's stupid,
but it's the first thing I thought when I met him. 

 Don't mention this to Second. He thinks I'm too sentimental as it is. 

 Green-Eyed Third was nothing like her, though. No WAY would she have
tolerated the things I pulled on him. 

 Don't mention that to Second, either. 

 For a long time, once I realized Second wasn't a bear, I wondered what
breed he was. Some breeds are easy to identify. Clearly Green-Eyed Third
had some greyhound in him, though he was far from a purebred. Last is
probably a distant cousin of a Golden Retriever - big, nice looking,
friendly as can be, but with a tiny brain and dumb as dirt. Blue-Eyed
Third is obviously a crazy mutt, with some sort of yapping terrier in the
mix. First Among Firsts - well, she's big for it, but there's some nasty
Chihuahua there. You know - the little ones that like to bully. 

 But Second? Still haven't a clue. Never did figure it out. Whatever he
IS, he's one of a kind. Never met anything like him, before or since. 

 So I just think of him as "almost-wolf."  

 THE TRAP. 

 My first impression of Second was not a good one. 

 He fell on me. 

 I was young, and fairly clumsy, and I had just been kicked out of the den
a few days earlier. I was starving - really, I had very rough survival
skills at that point. So, like a fool, I was investigating a small hole in
the ground, thinking I would dig up grubs, or worms. My stomach was
growling so loudly I couldn't hear the warnings in my head. Of course it
turned out to be a BIG hole, a trap, and I fell right into it. 

 I was stunned - literally - and completely panicked because the walls of
the trap were vertical and there was no way I could imagine freeing
myself. Also, I was dazed, and not hearing very well, and that frightened
me. I suppose I hit my head when I fell. My hearing really hasn't been all
that good since, though I'm hardly deaf. It doesn't matter to me any more.
In fact, considering how noisy I think Third is, I can only imagine what
he must be like if your hearing is perfect. 

 Anyway, there I was in the trap, alone, not able to hear if anyone was
coming. I started to whimper - and don't judge me, because as I said I was
quite young - when all of a sudden this enormous BEAR fell in on top of
me. I barely moved in time to avoid being crushed. 

 Of course, I'd never actually seen a bear at that point, though I'd
smelled them and seen bear tracks, and it took me a while to realize this
large creature that had very nearly flattened me was not, in fact, a bear.
It was too smooth, for one thing, smelled completely different and rather
than fur, seemed to be wrapped in layers of an outer husk, almost like a
plant. Very odd, indeed. 

 It was lying there on the floor of the trap, not moving, and eventually
my curiosity got the better of me and I went closer. A little while after
that I began to think it might be dead, or dying, which at first was a
relief, because if it did die, I knew I'd have a huge supply of food
without having to kill it. But then I began to think how lonely and
frightening it would be to be trapped down here, even with a lot of food,
with no one to talk to, no hope of rescue. I made myself so crazy that I
began to yell at the bear-thing, "Hey! Wake up! Get up! Talk to me!" When
it seemed to respond a little, I found myself licking it all over its
unwrapped parts, and it woke up completely. 

 That was Second. 

 He wasn't my Second immediately - what did I know about my own dominance
back then? Like I said, I was young. But I was overjoyed to have company.
He looked at me for a few minutes as if he expected me to bite him, then
just reached over and rubbed my neck. That simple action made me feel so
much better. I hadn't realized how lonely I'd become, prowling on my own. 

 He got up, looked around at the trap and squinted at the sky. I thought
I'd better introduce myself, since we were undoubtedly going to die here
together. "Hello, my name is Snow Hunter," I said, "what are you?" but he
looked at me blankly. Clearly an unintelligent creature, or at least an
uneducated one, if he couldn't speak wolf. But then he did something I
never will forget: he picked me up and hurled me out of the pit. It
happened so fast I didn't have time to react - I just started running away
from the trap as fast as I could. I was free! 

 I must have gone half a mile before I started thinking clearly again. I
stopped to catch my breath, turned around, and was surprised he wasn't
behind me. It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't follow. Strange. 

 My curiosity got me again. I retraced my steps, wondering where he'd
disappeared to, and found he'd never left the trap at all. In fact, he was
lying on the floor again, still. There was a big rock next to his head.
Ouch. I felt a pang of remorse. Here he'd helped me escape and I'd left
him there, probably to die. That's not the way a pack behaves. 

 See, by then I was already beginning to think of him as a pack mate. 

 I leaned over the edge of the trap with care - didn't want to make the
same mistake again! Just about then he started to move and I called to
him. He looked up groggily, saw me, and smiled. He seemed genuinely glad
to see me, though I don't think his eyes were actually focusing all that
well. My paws were hanging over some sort of wooden beams - bracing for
the trap, I suppose - and it struck me that he might be able to use the
wood to climb out of the trap. So I helpfully pushed a piece of wood into
the hole. 

 Well, I might have been an uncoordinated youngster, but he was positively
embarrassing. Didn't even try to get out of the way, and got knocked on
the head. You guessed it - he fell over and was unconscious again. 

 I took a disbelieving look into the pit and rolled my eyes. What sort of
breed is this idiot, I wondered. Who - or what - were his parents? Hadn't
they taught him anything? Clearly, if I wanted him to get out of the trap,
I was going to have to help him do it. I took a deep breath, said a little
prayer to the snow spirits that I wouldn't get stuck here myself, closed
my eyes and leapt. 

 At least I landed on him, which was softer than hitting the ground again.
Clearly I'd already lost my mind. Who knows what senses I would have
damaged if I'd hit my head a second time? 

 Anyway, to make the story short, he woke up, I nudged the wood towards
him, and eventually he figured it out, using it to dig foot and hand holds
in the side of the trap. He climbed out, after tossing me up again. 

 Afterwards, he and I were both hungry. Together we found a rabbit, though
ultimately I was the one who had to run it down. After THAT, he went to a
warm little wooden den, I followed, and I just stayed with him. It just
kind of happened. Five years later, we're still together. Sometimes, when
he's really being irritating, I think I should have just kept running and
left him in the trap, but it's too late now. I suppose I'm stuck with him
forever, and I now have to worry about him constantly. 

 That's the real trap, you see. Once you save a Second's life, you pay and
pay and pay...	

 EXPERIMENT. 

 I tried an experiment today. If it works, at least I'll have Third under
control and I can devote myself to the larger problem of Second. 

 Second, Third and I were out, chasing someone or other who I gather they
wanted to catch, when I feigned an injury, whimpering to Second that I
really needed to return to our den. After a little questioning, he
acquiesced to my wishes, and the three of us piled into Third's conveyance
for the trip back. 

 As I had calculated based on her usual behavior, First Among Firsts was
still in residence, but instead of hurrying my pack members past her den
as I usually do, I lingered outside it. Timing was crucial. First Among
Firsts glanced up at us, barked something at Second, then returned to her
business. I stopped dead and sat down, refusing to budge. Second thought I
was being ornery, but I insisted he go back to his office and fetch me my
favorite blanket because I wasn't feeling well. He looked at me through
narrowed eyes and refused, so I upped the ante and sank to the ground,
giving him my most mournful expression, while waving a paw at him weakly.
He looked terribly worried when I pretended to shiver - but when he
attempted to pick me up and carry me back to my bed, I flinched away. He
shook his head, wondering aloud to Third what exactly was wrong, but like
a good subordinate went to fetch me what I required anyway. I fastened
myself to Third so he would stay by my side. Second muttered something
about how strangely I was behaving as he walked away, and I could barely
contain my laughter. 

 The next part of the plan depended on exact timing. The moment Second's
back was turned, I bolted away from Third and ran into the female's den,
where I jumped onto the desk and grabbed away the piece of paper on which
she was working. She was outraged, and of course leapt up to follow me as
I returned to the hallway, where Third waited, looking a little confused.
Well, he sometimes is slow on the uptake. 

 But his reflexes are good, which is what I was counting on. As First
Among Firsts reached the doorway, I stopped and ran between her legs,
tripping her. She can be quite graceful sometimes, but I understand
leverage and mass, and unbalanced her sufficiently to make her topple
directly into Third's arms. 

 As I said, his reflexes are excellent, and he caught her quite nimbly,
though one hand accidentally (I think) ended up on her breast. He showed
his teeth at her and I was amused to catch a whiff of rather strong mating
smells emanating from him. "Upsadaisy," he said pleasantly. 

 Oh, this was almost too easy. 

 Fortunately I had hidden my blanket very well, so Second was still
occupied in our den, and could not return inopportunely. 

 Third and First Among Firsts seemed frozen in their odd position, Third
pressing her against him to keep them both from falling. They almost
seemed to be in an attitude of dancing. Oh, really, I could not have
managed it better. It was hard to keep from rolling on the floor laughing
my tail off. 

 A moment passed, then First Among Firsts said "You may put me down,
Detective," in a disparaging (though somewhat breathy) tone, and Third
smirked at her, "Yeah, you're welcome," in that sarcastic voice he uses
much of the time on Second. He hauled her upright and placed her on her
own two feet. 

 It was at that moment Second finally returned. 

 Timid as he is around women, Second is NOT actually slow on the uptake,
at least not most of the time, though he may feign occasional dimness to
disarm opponents. (Another fine quality in a pack mate.) As he appeared,
First Among Firsts said, rather more politely, "I meant to say, 'Thank
you, Detective,'" as she straightened her clothes, and Third replied - oh
this is the best part! "Call me 'Ray,'" in a husky voice (he's so
predictable!) and reached out to fix the female's collar. He likes to
touch things, Third does, especially things that are shiny, and his hand
went to one of her buttons, which was hanging loose. "Here, you'll lose
this," he said, and her hand moved to the button, just grazing his. She
tugged the button off, thanking him again. She seemed a little flustered,
and I caught the tiniest whiff of mating smell. 

 It hadn't been my intention to engender jealousy in Second, but that's
what seemed to happen. His mouth dropped open as he perceived his pack
mate and the female eyeing each other. He looked from one to the other for
a moment, then said, "Is everything all right?" 

 "Sure," Third said, and showed his teeth again as he leered at First
Among Firsts. 

 "You need to control your wolf, Constable," First Among Firsts said with
irritation, and returned to her part of the den. 

 Second watched her go with a thoughtful expression, an expression that
changed radically to annoyance when he looked at Third. "My wolf," he
muttered. Then he shook his head and bent down to give me the blanket,
which of course I ignored. I noticed as we all returned to our den that
Third glanced back in the female's den for one more look at First Among
Firsts. 

 Very promising. 

 And if jealousy distracts Second from his unhappiness, so much the
better.  

 WALKIES. 

 I take Second for walks twice a day. 

 Today Second and I went near the lake, as we often do, and he was even
more silent then usual. I was tired of talking to myself, of being
ignored, and decided I'd had enough of his moodiness. He sat down on a
bench looking out at the water, and I just flat out asked him what was
going on. 

 At first he didn't answer me, merely fiddled with his hat for a few
moments, his eyes on the horizon. Then he sighed and said nothing was
wrong, and I wouldn't understand anyway. 

 Well, that certainly was a mixed message, but I ignored the insult and
told him that I knew hiding pain was a good quality, but sometimes it's
just not productive. You're acting like an idiot, I told him. You need to
do something, get over this, because you're driving me crazy. 

 "Oh, fine, and I suppose you've never done anything to annoy ME?" 

 I snorted at him. It's not the same thing. By definition, a First cannot
be annoying, because whatever we say goes. 

 "You are unhinged," Second said, so I nipped his ankle. "Ouch! That's
hardly sporting." 

 What is it? I persisted. Is it females? 

 "For heaven's sake." 

 One female in particular? 

 He flashed me a warning look. If you want First Among Firsts, I goaded
him, you're going to have to fight for her. I think Third is interested. 

 "Don't be ridiculous," Second said, but there was heat in his tone. 

 Ah, good, I thought, that will get him going. I kept talking. If it's not
women, are you unhappy with what you do? 

 "This conversation is over," Second said, and stood up. He walked toward
the shoreline. 

 It's over when I say it's over, Second. 

 "You're not the alpha here, Dief." 

 Uh, sure. And don't call me Dief. You know what my name is. 

 He started throwing stones into the lake. Very unusual behavior for him,
I must say. He kept talking over his shoulder, and I had to move to read
his lips properly, because the wind was making it hard for me to hear him.
"I'll call you what I want to call you," he said, rather sulkily. "You're
my wolf, and what I say goes." 

 !!!
 I turned and walked away from him. I've never been so insulted in my
life. 

 Behind me I could faintly hear him calling, but I ignored him. A few
seconds later he was in front of me, blocking my path. Get out of my way,
I warned, but he crouched down. 

 "I'm sorry," Second said, "I know we don't own each other. I don't know
why I said that." 

 Look, Second - I used his rank deliberately - if you're going to mope
around like this, I'm going to move in with Third. At least he pays
attention to me. 

 He snorted. "He doesn't understand you." 

 So what? He has pizza. 

 He snorted again. 

 I growled at him. Well, I don't understand YOU these days. Whatever's
wrong with you? Tell me and maybe I can help. We've been pack mates a long
time, Second. 

 He shook his head. "You can't help." 

 If it's not females, if it's not your job, if you're not ill - are you
annoyed with Third? 

 "Well -" He shrugged. "No. No more than usual." I wasn't convinced. He
stood up and we started walking again, companionably. We took a few steps
and he stopped, looking at the lake. His eyes were far, far away. "I'm
homesick, Dief." 

 I felt so bad for him I didn't even correct him when he used that name.
Homesick. That's something I can't fix. 

 So go home, I said. 

 He shot me a look. "I can't, and you know it. Not until --" 

 He stopped because someone ran by us and there was shouting, and Second
started to chase after the runner and I ran after him to help bring the
quarry down. A nice old lady whose purse had been taken by the runner
kissed Second on the cheek, making him blush, and gave me a cookie. The
chase seemed to make Second feel better. Someone I guess had made a call
because cars showed up and then Third arrived and Second turned the mugger
over to someone and eventually we all went back to Third's den and ate
pizza. It felt like a normal day, just like dozens of others, and after a
while I sort of forgot about our conversation because I was feeling much
more content, and Second seemed that way, too. 

 I sniffed the tank. That shelled thing would make a good dessert, I
think.	

 AND NOW A WORD FROM. 

 Big Head brings food. 

 Big Head changes water. 

 Furry Face looks in tank. Licks muzzle. 

 Wants to eat me. 

 Help me, Big Head!  

 DESSERT. 

 As it turned out, I didn't get my chance to taste the shelled thing. 

 Not that I didn't try. 

 Third and Second were still carping at each other over First Among
Firsts, Third saying things like, "Don't you think she's hot?" and Second
pulling at his collar and saying "I don't know what you mean," and "I'll
thank you kindly not to talk about her that way," neither paying any
attention to me, so I took the opportunity to jump up on a chair and stick
my nose in the tank. I slurped a little brackish water to clear my palate,
and then just as I had my teeth ready to close on the shell --	the damned
thing stuck its head out and BIT me on the nose!  

 Well, you can imagine how surprised I was - and blast it if my nose
didn't feel like it was three times its size, the way it was throbbing. I
was so startled I lost my footing, and tumbled myself, the chair and the
tank onto the floor. 

 There was quite a crash, not to mention a huge splash as water and rocks
exploded everywhere. Oddly the tank itself didn't break, but the shelled
thing rolled out into the middle of the rug and lay there upside down. I
was really angry at it, and made a grab for it with my jaws. 

 I never got there. Third...THIRD! smacked me on the snout. "Get away from
my turtle!" he yelled. 

 The impertinence! I certainly wasn't going to let a THIRD get away with
that. I put my ears back and took a step towards him. Problem was, I
didn't really want to bite him. I settled for growling and showing my
teeth. Third responded by growling back and showing HIS teeth. He has big
teeth. 

 Fortunately, Second stopped it before any blood got spilled. He got
between us, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, and put his hand on
Third's chest to push us apart. "Not a good idea, Ray," he said. 

 "Yeah? Well, I told you the wolf and the turtle are natural enemies,"
Third sniffed. "He better not have hurt Waxy." He picked up the shell.
"You okay, Wax?" 

 Second looked confused. "Your turtle is named --" 

 "Wax. Yeah. Turtle...Wax. Get it?" 

 "Not entirely." 

 "Forget it." Third busied himself cleaning up the mess, once he'd hauled
that damned lethal creature off to the kitchen. 

 Second crouched down and shook his finger at me. "That was not
appropriate behavior, Dief," he said in a prim voice. "You should be
ashamed of yourself." 

 I swear, Second, I said to him, if you say "bad dog!" to me, I will puke
on your boots. And stop waving that finger at me if you want to keep it. 

 "You behaved abominably." 

 It bit me! I protested. 

 "Don't whine, it's unbecoming." And with that Second stood up and went to
help Third. 

 Huh. Ingratitude. How dare he take Third's part! 

 The upshot of this whole sordid affair was to be my banishment from
Third's den, but Second commuted that sentence. I am no longer allowed to
sit near the tank, even though it has been moved to a higher table. And I
swear I saw that stupid creature stick its green tongue out at me. 

 I will have revenge. Some day.  

 SECRET. 

 I think I should mention that Second has a really big secret that no one
else knows. No one except me. 

 He sees dead people. 

 Well, one dead person in particular. 

 He didn't always, but a couple of season cycles back, Second started
talking to the air. I didn't think anything of it - it merely seemed
another facet of his peculiar personality, another proof of his essential
unhinged-ness. When I listened, however, it seemed that Second was
carrying on an actual conversation, as if he were hearing a reply to what
he said. Well, I've seen enough strange things in my time - narwhals, the
aurora borealis, Third's hair - this was just another freaky thing for me
to experience in Second's company. Second talks to the air person the same
way he chats with me, or Third, or anyone else. Problem is, only Second
can see him, and sometimes others catch him at it and wonder why he's
still running around loose. 

 I mentioned to him that it was unseemly for other packs to think we had a
lunatic in our group, but he pointed out we already have Last, who clearly
has a hole in his bag of kibble. His point, I suppose, was that one more
lunatic wouldn't be noticed. 

 But it turns out he's not really crazy. Sometimes if I look at where
Second is talking, out of the corner of my eye I can catch a glimpse of
something in front of him, and if I unfocus my gaze, it somewhat looks
like an old fellow, dressed like Second, in a similar outer wrapping. 

 (If you're interested, the color of the wrapping is "red," I am told,
which, when worn by Second, seems to draw everyone's eye like North does a
compass. I myself have no idea why "red" is so powerful. I understand, in
a limited way, about "blue" and "green" and "brown," because those are eye
colors, and I am used to differentiating them. But "red" is not a color I
can identify easily. I understand that Second, Third, Last and other
breeds may see "red," but I do not. It's another benefit of having them in
my pack, just as they benefit from my nose. But I digress.) 

 Back to the air-spirit-thing. If I concentrate really hard, or close my
eyes while listening, sometimes I can hear the thing's voice. It's hard to
do that, because if I look at the old fellow directly enough to read his
lips, he slides away from me.. It's actually very annoying. This - spirit?
- creature? - doesn't talk to me, though sometimes he talks about me, and
I wouldn't care too much about it, except I can't smell him, which is
rather disturbing, actually. That's how I infer the thing is dead. 

 I think it's Second's father, from the half of the conversations I can
easily follow. When I started listening to what Second was saying, I
realized he had almost as many problems with his sire as I had with mine.
Fewer, perhaps, because his father was rarely around, while mine was all
too present. What is it with males and their fathers, anyway? I mean,
Third and HIS father aren't really good friends and now that I think about
it, Green-Eyed Third also had problems with HIS father. 

 I wonder if there's something about our histories that drew us together.
Hmm. I'll have to think about it. 

 Anyway, this sometimes-visible-father-thing seems to have set up shop in
Second's closet. I know that because I frequently find my pack mate in
there, talking away. The other day I waited over a half hour for Second to
let me out to do my business, and finally I had to nose him out in that
damned closet, where he was yapping away like he had all the time in the
world. Finally I couldn't stand the pressure in my bladder any more, so I
scratched at the door. 

 He opened it up. "I'll be done soon." 

 When? 

 "Shortly. Right now I'm busy." 

 Busy? You call this a productive use of your time? I have to relieve
myself! 

 "Well, I'll be done in a moment." 

 I sniffed, dancing a little with the need to urinate. You know, I'm
beginning to think you're never coming out of the closet. 

 He started a little. "What...exactly...do you mean by THAT?" 

 I looked at him like he was mad. What do you think I mean? You're in the
closet. I want you to come out, and you won't. That's all. 

 Seemed perfectly obvious to me. I had to GO and he was hanging around
with some blankets. 

 "Oh." He calmed down from his snit, but he still wasn't ready to leave.
"I just need a few more words with my father." He looked like he was about
to push through the back wall. 

 Please, I whined, imagining him stepping through some secret passage to
who knows where, I'm begging you not to go any deeper into the closet,
Second. 

 "That's enough!" He really sounded annoyed now, though I still can't
figure out why. 

 Well, the Hell with him. I left a puddle in front of the closet door,
right where I knew he'd step in it. 

 How sharper than a wolf's fang it is to have an ungrateful Second!  

 TOUCH. 

 The last few days have been difficult. Something happened with Third, but
in the end I understood something about Second I hadn't realized before. 

 It all started day before yesterday, with Third snapping at Second, at
me, at people on the street - well, pretty much at everybody. Then there
was an incident in an alley, when I had to attack a man who was
threatening Third with a big knife, and Third nearly killed him, though by
then the attacker was helpless. I yelled at Third, told him to stop, but
only Second could get through to him.. 

 That's another reason Third will never win a dominance battle with
Second. He's far too susceptible to Second's will. 

 Second doesn't like it when his subordinates are upset. It's the same
thing that's been worrying me about Second's homesickness. You outrank
your subordinate pack members - but along with the bossing them around,
and expecting them to feed you, you have to look out for them. Second
takes that responsibility very seriously. It used to bother him when
Green-Eyed Third was upset with him - which was often, by the way - and of
late he's been wondering out loud if Green-Eyes is safe, wherever he is. I
told him he can take care of himself, and mostly I believe it, though I
admit I saw him do some pretty stupid things when he was with us. For
their part, both Thirds have often put themselves in dangerous situations
to protect Second. And Second has done the same for me. 

 That's why we're a successful pack, which I credit myself for, because I
lead by example. 

 Well, mostly. 

 But I'm wandering again. 

 Whatever was bothering Blue-Eyed Third didn't have anything to do with me
or Second. He was constantly brooding, and got into a brawl with one of
the others at that place we meet him, you know, the place with the men
with guns. It's an interesting bunch down there; there's a big one I call
the Bull, a dark one who moves like a panther and of course CatFemale Who
Rubs Against Second. There's also one scruffy fellow who stinks so
strongly of fish and bacon bits that I sometimes want to knock him down
and roll in him. Well, he and Third are always getting in dominance
contests, and this was no exception. Big Bull and Panther had to pull them
apart. Fish Smell kept yapping at Third, but Third just stalked off. 

 Anyway, a lot of things happened over the next two days, not all of which
I saw, but by last night Third and Second had ended up saving a female
from being killed. They didn't shoot anyone or have to race to the rescue
in Third's conveyance, but they saved her all the same, if a little
quietly. I prefer the thrill of the chase, bringing down the prey in some
sort of dramatic ending. Afterwards, Second told me the female asked to
see Third alone, so the two of us waited for him outside her den. 

 Third came back to us with shoulders hunched and paws curled into fists.
He got inside the vehicle, but was curiously still. I understood that
something upsetting had happened, though I didn't know the details. This
whole affair had been somewhat confusing to me. No one had really
explained it to me, and I was a little frustrated. I knew that even if I
asked him directly, Third, unlike Second, would never tell me. I promised
myself I'd make Second tell me about it later. 

 But even if he was shutting me out, Third was in my pack, and I was
responsible for him, so I licked his ear, trying to tell him I was
sympathetic. Well, at the very least I was trying to get him to react to
me. But he didn't even push me away, which he usually does when I lick. He
sat there gripping the wheel, saying nothing. Then he started to shake,
and suddenly he was crying. 

 I didn't know what to do. I'd seen him shout, complain and make a big
fuss, be angry or silly, but I'd never seen him cry before. Honestly, I
was at a loss. 

 Second was the one who reacted. 

 He reached over and gently rubbed Third's neck, and a shiver passed
through me. I had an almost unworldly sensation as a vivid recollection
hit me. Suddenly I was back in the bear trap, all those years ago, when
Second bridged the gap between us and rubbed my neck. I remembered how
desperately I had needed that touch, frightened, sad, alone as I was. That
was the moment, I think, that Second became my pack mate. 

 I was jealous of Third in that moment, but it lasted only a second,
because I knew he was in pain, feeling overwhelmed by it, and I knew how
Second's simple action must make him feel. Third started to cry harder,
but I could tell it was a letting go sound, the sound you make just before
everything starts feeling much, much better. 

 Second has that power, you know. 

 He doesn't touch often, but when he does, he MEANS it. 

 Right then I was so proud of him, but more than that, I was a little in
awe. I don't like feeling that way, feeling like Second might be better at
leading than I am, that he might know more, be able to connect better with
his pack. That he might, in a way, be able to heal with a touch. 

 I pushed the thought away, reminding myself how much better at dealing
with females I am, how much friendlier and open I am with strangers, etc.
etc. etc. Those were hollow thoughts, though, small, selfserving thoughts.
When it comes down to it, Second is the one with the strength, not me. 

 And the heart. 

 It made me think. 

 Second really is something, you know?	

 INTENTIONS. 

 Yeah, he's SOMETHING, all right. I want to kill him. I want to rip out
his throat and worry his limp body with a bone-breaking shake. 

 I am infuriated with Second. He made me so angry, so frightened, so -- 

 I need to calm down, or I am going to bite the first person I see. With
any luck, that will be Last, though he deserves it the least. 

 Let me start over. 

 For some time I have been worried about Second. I have always known he
takes unnecessary risks in the pursuit of criminals. But now it's worse; I
swear he's taking risks because he doesn't care if he gets hurt. 

 Or... I don't even want to think it. Maybe he's reckless because he WANTS
to be hurt. 

 It's become so obvious that even Third agrees with me. Oh, we don't
discuss it, Third and I, because we never discuss anything. But I see it
in his eyes when he looks at Second. And I hear it in his voice,
frustration. Concern. Worry. Fear, perhaps. 

 Why would Second do this? 

 Since that day by the lake he first admitted what was wrong, I've watched
him become desperately unhappy with this place, this city where we live
now. Sure, he finds things to do that are amusing, and of course he
cherishes Third's company, and mine, and that of Last, and the others -
and, even though he is skittish of them, CatFemale and First Among Firsts.
He is used to us, to them, and he knows we care about him. But the faraway
look is in his eyes more often than not, now, and his behavior has become
almost predictable in its recklessness, as though he were trying not to
think, or feel, to block his thoughts and emotions through action and
impulse. 

 Third is the champion of impulse, but even he has warned Second that he
is taking chances and provoking people to do him harm. 

 I already know he will confront people who have weapons even though he
doesn't carry one, other than a knife, but I always thought that was all
about righting inequities without considering the odds. It is a
combination of bravery and foolishness that causes him to act this way.
Now I'm beginning to think it's arrogance as well, as if he assumes his
strength of will can dictate the other person's behavior. Well, that may
work sometimes on Third, but I doubt if he can predict with certainty that
it will work with criminals. 

 What is going on in his brain? Whatever it is, it's in the non-wolf part,
because I can attest to the fact that wolves have more self-preservation
instincts than he does. 

 Probably he's been building up to this for some time, years, maybe, and I
never really noticed. A while back, he made a challenge to a bully that
ended badly -- on that occasion he was willing to take a brutal beating
and go through tempered glass to protect an innocent man. He was a mess
for days, and afterwards Green-Eyed Third went after the bully himself, in
revenge for Second. Beat the man to a pulp, but then suffered weeks of
insomnia, lying in bed with a gun under his pillow. And that was only the
beginning. The situation deteriorated exponentially, and in the end,
everyone had been hurt. Several were dead. All indirectly because of
Second. 

 But at least that time I could tell myself Second's motives were pure. He
wanted to save someone who could not save himself. Someone likely to be
killed. 

 But lately...! 

 This time he courted disaster by confronting a loud-mouthed bearded bully
over some sort of minor incident in a restaurant - hardly a life or death
situation this time. Behaving in his most annoying manner, Second chose to
challenge this bearded man publicly, make him look small in front of
subordinates and passers-by alike. Didn't anyone ever tell him that if you
ridicule someone publicly they get bent out of shape over it, and may try
to retaliate in like kind? 

 This bully told Second to go away, but Second kept returning to provoke
him, challenging him on his own turf. Brilliant, Second! Rub it in! Make
the guy furious, why don't you? Standing for hours outside the bully's den
in the cold, armored only in his "righteous avenger" attitude. Being his
most irritating self. And no one is as irritating as Second can be, once
he puts his mind to it. 

 Third told him to cut it out. Big Bull told him the same thing. Even I
warned him I would not back him, and I'm First, and he should have
listened. But would Second listen? No. 

 If pack order were determined through passive-aggressive dominance
battles, Second would win. All the time. Hands down. He'd be First of the
world. 

 I could have predicted what would happen. Just like the bully years ago,
this bearded man had him beaten severely, outnumbered in an unfair fight.
When I saw him, all bloody and bruised, I felt sick, and though I wanted
to find those who had done it and tear them limb from limb, I also wanted
to shout at Second, See? You got what you deserved! 

 Perhaps he had expected us to rescue him in the nick of time, as we so
often have before. If so, he didn't get his wish this time. Sure, we
cringed, friends and pack alike, as he limped in, broken, dispirited, and
we all felt tremendous guilt that we hadn't rushed in after him. Well, you
know what? I resent being manipulated that way. Sometimes, when I am in a
dark mood, I begin to wonder if he's not really sailing in blindly - maybe
Second smugly feels entitled to have others rescue him. I wonder, was it
his faith in the rightness of his actions, or his faith in US that got
bruised, along with his body? That's a disturbing thought - that he could
expect Third and me to be there to catch him, not just if he does
something important, but if he chooses to jump off a tall building on a
whim, or fling himself over Niagara Falls just for the hell of it. Just to
see if we'll do it. 

 Well. Perhaps that's cynical of me. Probably it's just that he's so, so
-- bull-headed. Whatever it is, I am beginning to resent not being
informed about things. He doesn't wait for us, just goes off and does his
thing. It's arrogance. Arrogance and stubbornness and a fair amount of
stupid self-righteousness. It makes Third yell at him, drive too fast and
mutter under his breath as he endangers his own life for him. It makes me
want to turn my back on Second and walk away forever. It makes me want to
kill him. 

 Except. 

 We roll over and take it, Third and I. Because for whatever reason we
love him and we're programmed to save him over and over and over again, no
matter what. 

 And because he's unhappy. 

 And maybe because we're afraid that sooner or later he'll stop wanting us
to arrive in the nick of time.	

 OVERHEARD. 

 In the midst of all the turmoil following Second getting beaten up, the
following conversation ensued when Third came by to check up on him.
Second had spent the first night after the assault over in Third's den,
but insisted on coming home the next day, even though the cot here is hard
and Third wouldn't be around to fuss over him. 

 Hmmm. Maybe that's why he came back. Third fussing can be a frightening
experience, since though he means well he 1) can't cook other than coffee
and 2) has a less than cheery bedside manner and 3) his "comforting"
largely consists of him pacing around glowering, offering to kick various
people in the head. Anyway, Second came home. 

 This is what I heard (all right, mostly lip read) in First Among Firsts'
den: 

 3rd: Oh, hey. How's Fraser doing? 

 FAF: Turnbull's looking after him. 

 3rd: That oughta kill him. 

 FAF: He'll be fine, Detective. 

 3rd: I told you to call me Ray, Inspector. 

 FAF: Uh. (Muffled). 

 3rd: What? 

 FAF: Call me (muffled). 

 3rd: (Insistently) Call you what? 

 FAF: Margaret, I said call me MARGARET, for heaven's sake. Is something
wrong with your 

 hearing? 

 3rd: What, you think I'm DIEF or something? (Laughs at his own joke, for
reasons I don't quite 

 get). 

 FAF: (Snippy) Fine. Sorry. Sorry I brought it up. My mistake. 

 3rd: Aw, don't be that way. 

 FAF: (Bristling) What way? 

 3rd: You know. THAT way. 

 FAF: (Now getting angry) I'm sure I don't know what you mean. 

 3rd: (Getting angry himself) Suuuure you don't! They got a name for you,
lady, and the second word 

 is "tease." 

 FAF: How dare you! 

 3rd: How dare I?! You're the one who came over all throaty with that
"call me Margaret" stuff. 

 FAF: I did not! 

 3rd: Did so! 

 FAF: Did not! 

 3rd: DID! 

 FAF: (Crossly) Just forget it, Detective! 

 3rd (Louder) Ohhhh, no ya don't - no way, Margaret. You call me Ray. 

 FAF: Perhaps you should leave. 

 3rd: Not leaving until you call me Ray. 

 FAF: I'll have you know you're on foreign soil! 

 3rd: And I'll have you know I ain't crossing the border until you say it.


 FAF: I could arrest you. 

 3rd: Ooh, cool. Play rough, huh? I've got handcuffs - 

 FAF: (Annoyed) Oh, please! 

 3rd: Okay, if you insist. But first you gotta say it! Go on. Ya know ya
want to. Ray, Ray, Ray - 

 FAF: Exactly how old ARE you? 

 3rd: Old enough, Margaret. Meg. Maggie. Peggy. Greta. 

 FAF: Greta? 

 3rd: Whatever, C'mon. "RAAAAAAY." 

 FAF: (Muttering) This is absurd! 

 3rd: Bet your sweet ass it is! 

 FAF: No need to use obscene language! 

 3rd: What? 

 FAF: You said the word, (drops voice) "ass." 

 3rd: Yes I did. You bet your sweet (loudly) ASS I said you have a sweet
ASS, sister! 

 FAF: You! You! You - I - (Pause) Uh - you....you think I have... 

 3rd: Yeah, a sweet ass. (Drops voice to conversational tone) A great ass,
actually. 

 FAF: A great ass? 

 3rd: Best I've seen in a while. 

 FAF: Really? It's not too big? 

 3rd: It's perfect. Really. 

 FAF: Perfect? 

 3rd: I don't joke about things like that. Cross my heart. It's
world-class. 

 FAF: It is? 

 3rd: Yup. 

 FAF: Thank you, I think. Um. Ray. 

 3rd: You're welcome, Margaret. (Pause) Must be a Canadian thing. 

 FAF: (Suspiciously) What is? 

 3rd Another great Canadian ass. 

 FAF: What do you mean by THAT? 

 3rd: (Flustered) Uh, not sure. Anyway, I like it. Yours. 

 FAF: I think this is an improper conversation. 

 3rd: Yeah. Ain't it great? 

 He leered at her, but it turned into a regular smile, and I actually saw
the corners of her mouth go up. This was excellent! Unfortunately at this
point Last arrived, stepping in front of me to bring a message to First
Among Firsts. Third winked at First Among Firsts and turned to go,
realizing for the first time that I had been watching. He narrowed his
eyes at me, and as he passed he said under his breath, "You just keep your
trap shut, understand?" 

 Understood.  

 SURPRISE. 

 We took a trip to see some old friends. 

 Specifically, we went to visit the family of Green-Eyed Third. Second was
invited to a feast there (every meal is a feast with that pack) because
Green-Eyed Third's mother is very fond of him. Well, I have yet to meet
any females, including criminal ones, who are not fond of Second. He
wangled an invitation for Third, our current Third, to come with him.
Frankly, I think it was because Second is a little afraid of CatFemale -
who is a member of that pack - and Third helps keep her off him. 

 I got invited too, because the old female pack leader thinks I am a "nice
doggy." I put up with that odious name because of her meatballs. Besides,
Tough One - a.k.a. "Ante"- is living with CatFemale these days, and I was
feeling a little horny. So - what the hell if the Old First calls me
"doggy," if it means I get to mate with Tough One? 

 Third acted like he didn't want to go, doing his standard whining and
cringing performance, but Second gave him HIS patented "Now, Third"
speech, or rather "Now, Ray," coupled with a look of mild disapproval. It
worked, as always. Third sighed and we all piled into his conveyance and
went over to visit the other pack. 

 We were greeted warmly by Old First, her various offspring and associated
pack members, though the old female clucked and fussed over Second in
particular, which embarrassed him, as all special attention does. To my
surprise, CatFemale did not seize the opportunity of Second's arrival to
wrap herself around him, as she so often has in the past. I know I was
startled, and so was Second, and Third said something snide about how
reserved CatFemale was acting. Amazingly, for once she ignored his jibes. 

 It was a bit of a mystery, but I lost interest in solving it when I
caught a whiff of Tough One and trotted off in search of her. 

 She and I got up to a number of interesting things before dinner was
served, and I lost track of what everyone else was doing. However, as we
were all moving into the dining room, there was a knock at the door. I
happened to be in the hall in time to see CatFemale rush to the door and
open it to reveal the last person I would have expected to see. 

 No, not Green-Eyed Third. The Last. 

 LAST! 

 Last was standing there, shifting from foot to foot, filling up the door
with his shoulders, looking very unlike himself in a suit and noose around
his neck. Why anyone would wear one of those is beyond me. It's like a
leash, and how demeaning is that? Most of the males were wearing them, and
I know Third had complained bitterly about his all the way here. Last's
appearance was remarkable enough, but what nearly knocked me over was when
CatFemale grabbed him, lifted up onto her toes and kissed him on the
cheek. "Come in, Trevor," she said, and took him by the hand. 

 Trevor? 

 Did I ever know he had a name? 

 If I thought I was surprised, you should have seen the look on my pack
mates' faces when CatFemale dragged Last into the dining room. Old First
and the rest of them looked interested, and greeted him, but clearly he
was expected. Only Second and Third were taken aback. 

 "Turnbull?" Second said, rubbing at an eyebrow. 

 "Uh, yes, Constable Fraser," Last said nervously. 

 "Ma," CatFemale said, ignoring Second, "you remember Trevor, don't you?" 

 "Of course, cara," Old First said, taking Last's hand, then turned
towards Second, smiling warmly. "I believe you work with Francesca's young
man, don't you?" 

 "Francesca's young man?" Second echoed faintly. 

 "'Trevor?'" Third said. "Your name is Trevor?" 

 "Yes, Ray, Trevor," CatFemale said to Third, her dark eyes flashing at
him. 

 "Good evening, Detective," Last said. 

 "'Trevor?'" Third repeated, clearly stuck, "Fraser, did you know Turnbull
had a first name?" 

 "Ray," Second said irritably. 

 "Huh, 'Trevor Turnbull.'" He shook his head. "Your parents were as
sadistic as mine.'" 

 "Shut up, Ray," CatFemale said harshly, then immediately turned on a
smile for Last, "Please sit down, Trevvie. Next to me." She pushed Last
and he flopped into a chair. 

 "How long you been seeing Frannie....Trevvie?" Third said, smiling evilly
across the table. 

 "Well, Detective Vecchio --" At this, five pairs of eyes, Old First,
CatFemale, two adults of the pack and a child, whipped around to stare at
him. Last blanched. "Oh," he stuttered, "uh, shouldn't I call Detective
Vecchio 'Detective Vecchio?'" 

 "Never mind, Trevvie," CatFemale said. "We should be used to the defiling
of my brother's name by now." 

 "Good one, Frannie," Third said between his teeth. "Just call me
Ray...Trevor." 

 Now Second's head whipped around. Possibly he was remembering Third
cooing "Call me Ray," to First Among Firsts. Whatever the reason, he was
frowning, and I was really beginning to enjoy the show. 

 "All right, Ray," Last said tentatively, "Miss Vecchio and I have been
seeing each other since that wonderful visit by Tracy Jenkins --" 

 "Oh yeah, the country singer. Well, how 'bout that?" Third said, grinning
at Second. "How 'bout that, Frase?" 

 "Mmm," was all Second said, and he looked down at his food as if it were
the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. 

 Dinner passed without further interruption, a glorious feast of
meatballs, pasta, delectable fried things and a divinely decadent dessert.
I hung around under the pup's chairs, and they were very generous in
sharing with me. 

 Towards the end, as I lay there belching, I noticed Second was still a
little distracted, and I saw him mutter something to no one in particular.
My nose twitched, because this was how he acted when he was talking to the
air. And yes, in fact, he excused himself and went out to the front porch.


 I followed him at a distance. 

 "What are you implying?" he was protesting to the air as I paused in the
doorway. "No, I have no interest in her, I am happy for her. I was merely
surprised, is all." He shook his head and stared sullenly into the air
about two feet in front of him. I squinted, and sure enough, could make
out the shadowy figure of the old man. I closed my eyes and listened
intently. 

 "--only saying son, that if you don't jump to it, she'll be taken." 

 "Evidently she IS taken, Dad, and by the way, let me reiterate, I AM NOT
INTERESTED in her." 

 "What's wrong with her?" 

 "Nothing. Not a thing." 

 "Then you don't have an excuse, do you? Benton. Listen to me, boy. Go get
her. You know it's you she wants. She's just seeing him to make you
jealous." 

 "SHE IS NOT!" Second stopped short, looked around and lowered his voice.
"Just...go away, Dad. This is none of your business." 

 "Hmmph. One of these days, son, I WILL go away --" 

 "If only," Second murmured. 

 " -- and you won't have Bob Fraser to kick around any more." 

 "What are you, Nixon?" 

 "Mark my words, son. Life is passing you by. Better grab for the gusto
while you can." 

 "Grab for the gusto, good grief," Second muttered. "You sound like a beer
commercial. Really, Dad....Dad?" 

 There was no more conversation and I opened my eyes. I couldn't see the
figure any more, so I figured he'd gone back to wherever he came from.
Second looked around, checking the ground around the porch, but clearly he
was alone. 

 Except for me. "And what do YOU want?" he growled at me. 

 Nothing, I said, except to remind you you are a horse's ass. 

 "Great. You, too? I suppose you think you're a role model, don't you?
Well, I saw you with that poodle -- disgraceful. Embarrassing." 

 I snorted. Bet I had more fun than you did. 

 "Oh, please." 

 No, really, Second, he's right - you had your chance with her. You've
been replaced. 

 "So what if I have? I am NOT, repeat, NOT interested in Francesca that
way." 

 All right. But what about the other one? Third is making progress there.
Practically sniffing her rear end. You better do something or the next
thing you know they'll be going at it like rabbits. 

 He gawked at me. "Whatever are you talking about?" 

 You really ARE obtuse sometimes, Second, I said, and turned my tail to
him. 

 Inside, Third and Last were having an argument about something called
"Gilligan's Island," wherever that place is. Third was gesturing wildly
and being his usual noisy self, while Last kept nodding and trying to get
a word in edgewise. This he managed whenever Third paused for breath, at
which time Last would chime in cheerfully with something that would make
Third start yammering all over again. 

 CatFemale was sitting next to Last, hanging on his every word as though
he were spitting jewels. The look on her face was honestly one of rapture,
and it occurred to me that it was possible Last might leave my pack and
start one with CatFemale. And that it might happen soon. 

 The thought made me a little wistful. We all make fun of Last, but
essentially he's a good sort, with pure motivations and a capacity to
endure mockery far beyond my tolerance for it. Whatever doltish things he
may say, he acts pretty bravely when he has to, if somewhat foolishly the
rest of the time. I would hate to see him go. 

 That led me to another thought. Maybe Last is smarter than the rest of us
combined, if he's the one who's found a mate and moved on with his life. 

 I wonder if that's what Second is thinking about, too.  

 WOLF RULES, PART 1. 

 Rule #1: Playing dead should be left to dogs and wolves. 

 Because if you are as intense as Second, you might take it a little too
far and find it hard to come back, which brings us to #2: 

 Rule #2: Don't scare your pack members unduly. 

 All right, I suppose I knew Second was going undercover as a corpse. But
hearing it from Third and seeing it in person were two different things,
and I didn't like the way it made me feel to see my closest packmate lying
there so still. Scared me to death. Besides, Third looked none too happy
about it either, and evidently he'd helped set it up. Last took one look
at Second and started to caterwaul louder than anything I've ever heard
from CatFemale. She had to slap Last to bring him around after he fainted.
Honestly, they deserve each other. Meanwhile, everyone else completely
fell apart at the thought Second was dead. I know he's beloved of all the
ladies, but this was ridiculous. I could just bite him when he does these
unnecessary things. 

 Didn't, though.  

 VISIT.  

 The day after the "funeral," Third dropped by our den. Second had gone
out for a walk, but I decided it was too damn cold and remained behind.
I'm glad I did, or I would have missed a very interesting encounter. When
I heard Last admit him, I trotted up front to say hello to Third. He
scratched my ears, and I couldn't help growling happily, and then he
slipped me half a bologna sandwich, which was delicious, but his attention
was on First Among First's office. 

 Last hastened to tell Third that Second was out, but he shrugged and
knocked on the doorframe to the front office. The female said, "Come in,"
without looking up, and when she did so, she looked a little startled to
see him there. I followed him. 

 I love it when no one pays any attention to what I'm doing. 

 "Detective," First Among Firsts said, in her usual curt tone. 

 Third rolled his eyes. "Are we gonna start that all over again,
Margaret?" 

 This time she didn't pursue that line of discussion. "Constable Fraser
isn't here," she said formally. "Is there some way I may be of assistance
to the Chicago Police Department?" 

 "I'm not here officially and I'm not here to see Fraser," Third said,
coming closer to the desk. "I wanted to talk to you." 

 First Among Firsts shifted in her chair. "About what?" 

 "Well, yesterday, at the funeral home, with all that crazy stuff that was
going on --" 

 "What about it?" 

 I cringed a little on his behalf. Clearly the female was in full snapping
Chihuahua mode. Third sort of squared himself before he went on. I know
that feeling; he was in a dominance battle, and she was on top. "I just,
well I noticed your reaction when you thought Fraser was dead. You were
really upset." 

 She colored a little. "Well, naturally I was concerned at the thought
that a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, a subordinate of mine,
with whom I've had a relationship, uh, a working relationship, had, uh, --
well, I was understandably taken aback." 

 "I know." Curiously Third didn't mock or correct her, which would have
been standard behavior for him. Instead he kind of shimmied himself so one
hip was perched on her desk. She looked a little alarmed, but held her
ground. "I just wanted to say...look, I'm sorry we didn't tell you what we
were up to. I think we scared you pretty bad." 

 The female stared at him for a minute, and then she looked down at her
paperwork. "I'm fine." 

 "I know," Third said. "I know you are." 

 "Is that all?" She picked up her pen, still looking at the desk. 

 Third watched her push papers around for a moment, then stood up. "Just
wanted to apologize." First Among Firsts didn't reply. "So, I'll just.
I'll be going, I guess." He walked to the door. "See ya around." 

 She didn't answer him, and eventually Third just went out, nodding to
Last as he left. I watched from the window of the front room as he got
into his big black conveyance and drove away. When I peeked back into
First Among First's office, she had her face in her hands.  

 WOLF RULES, PART 2  

 Rule # 3: It's probably not a good idea to breed with your own sister. 

 I mention this because Second came THISCLOSE to doing so. I had no idea
he even had a sister, even a half-sister, but one whiff of this
yellow-haired cutie and I knew right away we were talking relations. 

 And "relations" is almost what they had. Well, I think Second would have
liked to. He was sending out major amounts of mating smells at her, and
she was reciprocating, though only a little. For a wild moment I had a
joyous vision of Second and this "Maggie," as she was called, all hooked
up and happy and mating their hearts out. I didn't even tell Second what I
knew about this new female, that they were kin. Hey - maybe it was wrong
of me, but I figured Second needed a little action and they could sort it
out later. Whatever. 

 The situation almost immediately deteriorated, however. Third got into
the act. When Second showed interest in her, Third's head swiveled so fast
in her direction I'm amazed it didn't just pop off and roll up to her
feet. 

 The good news was that Third's interest made Second VERY competitive, and
that was reassuring. I had begun to wonder about him, whether he just had
no instincts towards mating at all. Well, I was premature in that
judgment. He even got into a brief shoving match with Third over her,
which was a relief, and amusing to boot. 

 But he's too smart for his own good. He started adding things up, and
talking to his dead father, and sooner or later he came up with the truth
about the female. And because he's such a prude, that pretty much put a
damper on his interest. I mean, he was pleased to discover he had a living
relative, but take it from me, that's not the same comfort as an all-night
rut session. Curiously, just about then Third's interest in her started to
wane, too. I guess when there was no contest, there was no interest. Now
he's acting like her brother, too. Not at all what I would have expected
from him. 

 Or maybe Third is taking this thing, whatever it is, with First Among
Firsts a little more seriously than I intended. Could be. I wonder if he
realizes she will always prefer Second.  

 THAW. 

 The spring thaw is late this year. 

 Winter should be ending here in the city, but snow still coats the ground
and it's bitterly cold. Second spends almost all his free time out of
doors anyway, walking, listening, sitting in the cold, looking aimlessly
at the horizon. I don't know what to say to him any more. 

 He confessed to Third he's homesick. Considering that he barely confides
his feelings to ME, that's pretty big for Second. Third was sympathetic,
but there's nothing he can do about the situation either. 

 And so we remain here in the city, frozen in position, doing what we
always do, chasing bad people. Doing our jobs. Eating pizza, watching
television. Watching Second. Waiting for the thaw. 

 Until. 

 Second and Third came in the other night, a little singed and stinking of
smoke. Seems someone tried to set fire to them, and both were rather
shaken up. I do not like hearing that two of my pack members were nearly
roasted alive. 

 It's the beginning of something, I can feel it. Something big. It's in
the air, in Second's face. He is strangely nervous, as if he is picking up
the crackling of energy, trying to hear, or see, or feel something that
cannot be heard or seen or felt, but which makes itself known all the
same. It's trouble, but he is excited, too. Gone is the woebegone air, the
distant look in his eye - the sadness. Now when he looks at the lake, he
looks north, and his eyes are determined. He is filled with anticipation. 

 I see it in Third's face, too, but in a different way. His face is
closed, but his eyes give away his inner tenseness. It's definitely not
anticipation Third feels -- it's dread. What he sees is nothing good, and
he hates the fact that he sees it. 

 As is so often the case these days, neither discusses their feelings with
me. I hardly think they're aware of me at all. 

 And then, in a sweep of noise and familiar scents and well-known
expressions, the harbinger of change arrives. 

 Green-Eyed Third is back.  

 SILENCE.  

 I had forgotten how quiet it can be out here, this far away from the
city. From ANYTHING. I think I'm having a little difficulty readjusting.
Certainly it's colder here than I remember. I miss the heat of our den. I
miss Third's den. I miss pizza. I even miss the shelled thing. 

 I hope someone is feeding it. Fattening it up for me. I WILL be back. 

 It's fairly quiet - almost somber - around the campfires. The sled dogs'
conversation has begun to bore me -- all about, oh, the longest distance
they've ever traveled in one day, how fast they can go. Yawn. Dull, dull,
dull, they so need to get a life. I go in search of more articulate chat,
but I am disappointed. My path takes me near Last and First Among Firsts,
and I pause for a moment. Both of them seem rather excited, particularly
Last, who I think has led a rather sheltered life up to now. All of this
potential danger is thrilling to him. It's been my experience that danger
leads to injury and pain, if Second and Third are examples to go by, but I
don't have the heart to mention that to Last. Let him enjoy himself. A
nice scar or a limp might be good for him, give him a rakish look and an
interesting story to bring home. 

 First Among Firsts is jittery with a kind of suppressed nervousness. The
whole time she is talking to Last her eyes are squinting into the distance
at the various campfires, searching for someone. I can guess who. Her
conversation with Last seems to focus primarily on where they will be
going next, after whatever is going to happen here finally happens. Last
seems to favor returning home to our den or to some big city to the west
that lies on the sea, which I gather is where he was born. I hope he goes
back to CatFemale. Otherwise, I can see CatFemale coming after him in a
fury, and that would be like having a bus run over you and then drag you
underneath it all the way home. 

 Besides, when I last sniffed her, I could tell she's going to be a
mother. I assume it's Last's cub. It's been my experience that
mothers-to-be, of whatever breed, aren't too happy about being abandoned. 

 Note to self: Make sure Last doesn't get killed. 

 As for First Among Firsts, she is talking excitedly about 'Toronto' and
'Ottawa.' I've been there, Ottawa, I mean - went there once with Second.
It's a nice, if boring, place, with lots of flags and big buildings and
people who dress like Second standing around outside them. Important
things happen there, I understand. Huh. The female is telling Last she'll
be important there. Well, I wouldn't put it past her - she's relentless
enough. 

 This Toronto place, on the other hand, seems to consist entirely of
places to shop, if you listen to First Among Firsts. 

 Well, this conversation is about as boring as the sled dogs', so I move
on. 

 I avoid Gassy Man, for obvious reasons. 

 Second and Third are having a non-conversation at their campfire. What do
I mean by that? Well, I've noticed that from time to time the two of them
have trouble communicating, which is odd, because most of the time they
seem to act in unison, especially in dangerous situations. But I suppose
when there is no danger, they start to think too much. That's always a
mistake, I've found. Subordinate pack members shouldn't think. They should
just obey their First. 

 But when was the last time either of them obeyed me? 

 In any case, the silence between them is palpable as I come near. Second
is poking at the fire, looking into the flames. Perhaps he's thinking
about Green-Eyed Third, who remains behind, wounded by the man we must
confront tomorrow. I suspect, however, that Second's focus is within
himself. 

 Third, meanwhile, isn't looking at anything except his feet. He starts to
say something, something about when we return home, something about Second
and the other Third, and then I understand. It's heartbreaking, really. He
thinks he is about to be kicked out of the pack. 

 Funny thing is, he isn't looking at me to get my opinion of that, and
let's face it, as First, I'm the one who decides these things. No, he's
asking Second, asking in a roundabout, fairly inarticulate way, which
means he's worried about the answer. And then Second is answering him, but
he doesn't really answer him at all, just starts to tell one of his
stories. As always, I wonder if Second is being deliberately obtuse or if
he doesn't know how to say what he feels. Maybe both. If I were Third, I'd
bite him, but Third just looks back at his feet. Maybe he has frostbite. 

 And then we're interrupted, and Third makes a joke to cover up the
awkwardness, and the silence falls again.  

 PACK.	

 I'm sorry Third is worried. There's room for both Thirds in the pack.
Yes, they'd need to figure out between them who's Third, and who ends up
Fourth, and I suppose that would entail a little violence, but it could be
done. 

 But I think the question is moot. 

 Let me say this about Green-Eyed Third. I really, really care about him.
I was very upset when he disappeared, overjoyed when I saw him again, and
concerned when he was hurt the other day - was it so recently? - saving
Second. We all hope he will be all right. It seemed terribly unfair that
he and the rest of the pack should be separated again, so soon after his
return to us. Of course, Second felt tremendous guilt. 

 Guilt. It's a familiar theme between the two of them. 

 I don't know how Green-Eyes feels about me. Let's face it, it's not as if
he rushed over to greet me when he came back. He ignored me. He ignored
Third too, except to sniff him warily, which I suppose makes sense, as he
didn't know him. He only wanted to see Second. 

 All very well and good. But that's not pack. As Third might say, that's
not buddies. 

 Green-Eyes has changed. He looks much the same; better, maybe, with a new
kind of dignity about him. But he's more tightly wound, less open, angrier
than when he left. I thought he'd left us because he wanted to be on his
own, to start his own pack, but I was wrong. Wherever he went, whatever he
did, it changed him. I find I miss the shouting, gesturing, in-your-face
Third who went away. He has become a lone wolf. 

 I am sorry about that. It's not an easy path to follow. 

 We are happy to see him again, especially Second. They were so close
once, and perhaps they will be again. But I don't think he'll ever be part
of our pack again. Not because I won't let him come back. Because he won't
want to. Won't be able to. 

 And that's very sad, indeed.  

 KISS.	

 Second and First Among Firsts are kissing. 

 I've developed the habit of keeping an eye on Second, because when he's
not within my sight it makes me worry what danger he might have gotten
himself into. Since he's been here I haven't noticed that tendency toward
self-destruction I saw back in the city, but still, I worry. 

 So I happen to be watching him closely as First Among Firsts comes up to
him at the campfire and interrupts us, and he rises and goes with her. I
cast a glance over at Third, but his eyes are in shadow, his head down in
the dejected slump he's been affecting all day. Then he gets up too, and
walks away. 

 Second and the female pause outside the ring of light cast by the fire,
and stand a few inches apart. If they're speaking, I can't hear the words.
That's when they kiss. It's a gentle kiss, rather chaste and sweet, but
both of them seem to enjoy it. I move a little closer, but stop when the
kiss breaks. They look at each other a minute, and then separate and turn
away. 

 That's IT? 

 First Among Firsts moves off a little, her head down. I fancy there are
tears in her eyes, though I am too far away to know for certain. Second,
on the other hand, is already heading towards the team to talk to Gassy
Man. He doesn't even look back at the female. I shake my head in wonder.
Another missed opportunity, Second. 

 But wait a minute - 

 Another figure comes out of the shadows and steps in front of First Among
Firsts. I move a little closer, ready to come to her rescue if she is
attacked - after all, if Second were so inclined, she might have been a
pack member of mine. Despite her brittleness and her yelling, I confess
I've developed a certain fondness for her, and I'm feeling sorry for her
right now. The figure catches a little moonlight and I breathe a sigh of
relief. It's Third. 

 Now I really have to be closer, because it's too dark to read their lips.


 "I'm sorry," Third is saying. "He's obviously unhinged." 

 Huh. I couldn't agree more. 

 "Constable Fraser is not unhinged," First Among Firsts says, a little
sharply. "Muldoon, his mother, the terrorists. He has a lot on his mind." 

 "Then he's thinking about the wrong things, Margaret," Third says,
shaking his head. 

 She smiles at him, a little smile. "Thank you." 

 Third looks up at her, and I swear his eyes are reflecting light, like
mine do. "Look, I know I'm not...I mean, I know he's...." 

 "He is...unique." 

 "That he is," Third says, and smiles. 

 She smiles back at him. "And so are --" 

 "Nah," he says, "I'm not." His face changes. Interesting....he looks like
a wolf. "Say my name," he growls. 

 She takes in a breath, and then lets it out so softly I almost can't hear
the syllable. "Ray." She tries again. "RAY." 

 And then I really don't have to hear what they're saying, because what
they're doing is all too obvious. Second had given First Among Firsts a
nice, sweet, gentle, "good-bye, it's been nice knowing you, too bad things
didn't work out, have a good life," kind of kiss, but what Third and First
Among Firsts are doing isn't sweet or nice or gentle. The two of them are
pawing at each other, making slurping noises with their mouths. I watch
Third drag the two of them back into the shadows of the trees and I fight
my natural curiosity and decide at least this time to give him a little
privacy, since he's doing me the honor of acting like a wolf, so I trot
back to the fire, where Second has returned, and stretch out next to his
feet. He looks at me quizzically. "Have you seen Ray?" 

 I smile enigmatically. 

 A little while later Third ambles back to us. He's even more askew than
usual, but he's whistling. Second cocks an eyebrow at him, taking in his
new mood. "Where have you been?" 

 "Around." Third settles himself onto a seat and warms his hands over the
fire. "Frase. How far is Ottawa from Chicago?" 

 "By land or air?" 

 "Air. Plane." 

 "Less than two hours." 

 "Great. Greatness." 

 "Ray?" 

 "No reason," Third says. "Might wanna visit there some day, you know?"  

 WOLF RULES, CONTINUED.  

 Rule #4: Wolves were not meant to fly. If someone tells you it is a good
idea to do so, bite them. They lie. 

 Rule #5: Corollary: Never jump out of a plane, no matter what apparatus
you are wearing, even if someone were to distract you by saying, "Look,
Dief, shelled things!" 

 Rule #6: Do not panic if you cannot find your pack immediately upon being
thrown from a plane. Most likely they are either in a metal tube under the
ice shooting at criminals, or in a mineshaft talking to dead people.
Nothing to worry about. 

 Rule #7: When you discover your pack is well and safe, after thinking for
sure you'd never ever see them again and the thought of that had filled
you with despair beyond all imagining so that you'd sooner die yourself
than continue on without them -- 

 Then it is perfectly permissible to jump on them and lick them all over. 

 In fact, it's expected.  

 ANSWER. 

 He's looking at me, grinning, as if he's in on the best joke ever. 

 What? I ask. 

 He doesn't need to tell me, though. I already know the punch line. He's
happy. 

 "We're home, Dief." He stops, looks at me, grows serious. "Snow Hunter." 

 I'm startled. Thank you, I manage to say. 

 It's a precious gift, and a long time coming. I am so touched I have to
look away. Wouldn't do to let him see how I feel. 

 But... 

 Call me Dief, it's all right, I say. Dief is -- well, I'm used to it, and
you like it. 

 "Thank you." 

 He's grinning at me again, fondly. To cover my feelings I look for Third,
but he's in the sled, sleeping, I think. Trust him to miss the most
spectacular vista so far. The valley before us is almost blinding with
bright snow, mountains thrusting up behind it into the cloudless sky. Blue
glaciers glint among faraway peaks. We're on a rise, trees behind us,
There's not so much as a hare's track to spoil the perfect snow. 

 He draws my eye again. Second, flushed cheeks, white billowing breath,
swathed in a fur wrapping, his mouth open as he pants against the wind.
The white of his teeth is like the white of the snow, his smile bright
like the sun, eyes clear as the sky, and I feel his joy as if it were
mine. 

 I understand now. Don't know why it took me so long. 

 I am his friend, his most constant friend. No one knows him better than
I. He is happy to have me by his side, just as he is glad Third is with
us, sleeping or not, happy that we are still one pack, still together. 

 But what I understand now, that I couldn't before, is that it was not
enough. It was never enough, just to be loved by friends and pack. He
needed to be HERE. It's this place, this unforgiving northern ground that
makes Second happy. The cold, the brightness, the harshness of it, it's
necessary for him; it's IN him, smoothed and warmed and burnished into the
singular, crazy being that he is. This land is his home, but it's more
than that. It is his food, his water, his life. It's more important to him
than a mate, more important than work or comfort, more necessary than
family or friends. It's who he is. He is North. 

 And like the magnetic North, he draws us with an irresistible force. 

 I don't know what will happen to him, if there is a mate for him,
offspring, a thousand more adventures or this one alone, a long life or a
short one. No one can predict the future. But right now the present is
enough. He has found at least a temporary happiness, so how can I worry? 

 My heart is so glad to see Second happy at last that I almost feel like
crying. To keep him this way I will endure the freezing cold, which I
never liked very much, and the hunting for food, which is a chore, and the
lack of doughnuts and the absence of other beings to talk to besides the
two of them and the silly sled dogs, who have little of interest to say.
What I feel doesn't really matter, in the end. If Second is happy, then I
am content. 

 Wait - 

 I come to myself with a start. 

 What am I saying? If SECOND is happy? 

 I sink into the snow and consider my place in the universe. 

 You are a fool, Snow Hunter. Diefenbaker. 

 Perhaps...I have been mistaken all this time. Well. How funny to realize
it at last. 

 Perhaps the truth has always been this - 

 HE is First. 

 I am HIS Second.  

 Or maybe...it's just worms.  

 THE END. 

End Second by Shay Sheridan: RedChance@aol.com

Author and story notes above.