The Prince Who Fell From the Sky by John Claude Bemis Page B

against you, dog. And I’m not lying. Even the rat saw it. They fell—”
    “They? There are other Companions?”
    “They’re dead,” Casseomae said.
    “Was it the Ogeema?” the dog asked, a slight growl in his breast. “Did he kill them?”
    “No. They died from the fall. Only this cub survived.”
    “But there could be others, couldn’t there?” the dog barked. The child looked around sleepily before lowering his head back to his arm. As his eyes closed, hereached out to pat the dog’s head. “The pup could lead us to them,” the dog said.
    “The cub is lost,” Casseomae said. “He doesn’t know where to go. I’ve barely been able to get the pitiful thing to follow me.”
    The dog continued to lick happily at the child’s hand. The cub pulled it away with a few chirps of pleasant complaint before rolling over to fall back asleep.
    The dog grinned widely at Casseomae. “My clan tells of a day when the Companions will return. When we’ll be reunited and our persecution by the Ogeema and his kind will be over. But only if we remain faithful and keep our oath of loyalty until they return. And now they’ve returned! Now they are coming back to us, coming back home.”
    “There are no other Companions,” Casseomae said. “I told you he’s the only one.”
    “You’re wrong,” the dog replied. “There are others. There have to be. And the pup will lead me to them.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    A s morning light spilled across the highway, the rain evaporated from the leaves in a steamy mist. The dog was up and scampering around. The child chased after him, calling out his own strange and happy barking noises. Dumpster emerged to join Casseomae where she had dug up an ant mound.
    “I assume you’re not running him off for a reason.”
    “I can’t protect the cub alone,” Casseomae said. “I need the dog.”
    “You need that dog like you need a flea in your ear,” Dumpster said. “I’ll be scratchin’ glad when I find my mischief. Then I can leave you to watch that pair of tongue-lappers run around in circles.”
    Casseomae peered at the child and the dog playingtogether. Their grinning expressions did make them seem akin.
    The child leaped on top of a relic. His clothing-hide was opened at the chest, and the bottoms were rolled up to his knees. With the arm portions now cut away, he looked like he was molting—shiny blue giving way to a slightly fuzzy pink-white. But all of it was taking on the brownish hue of dirt. The cub had grown filthy since his arrival and last night’s rain only made it worse. The Skinless certainly didn’t know how to stay clean like the Forest’s cubs.
    The dog trotted over and said, “We’d better not follow this trail. Too many voras and viands use it.”
    “Well, this is the way we’re going,” Dumpster said. “If you’re too cur-hearted to follow us, you can go another way.”
    The dog bristled but tried to pointedly ignore the rat. “Why are you following the highway?” he asked Casseomae.
    “His mischief is going that way,” Casseomae said. “In search of a safer territory. I’m hoping it will lead me to a safe territory too. For the cub.”
    “Until the Companions take back their place, there is no safe territory in the Forest for his kind,” the dog said.
    “What about the Havenlands?” Casseomae asked.
    The dog flattened his ear and glanced over atDumpster. “You’ve been listening too much to that rat. The Havenlands don’t exist.”
    “First of all,” Dumpster squeaked, “I told that mushroom brain that the Havenlands don’t exist. So don’t accuse me. Second of all, eat droppings!”
    “I have to find somewhere,” Casseomae said. “What was it you said before about the Auspectres?”
    The dog looked with sidelong wariness at the cub resting against a poplar trunk. “I’m not sure it was a good idea.”
    “Why not?” Casseomae asked.
    “It’s … too dangerous.”
    “More dangerous than wandering the Forest?” Casseomae