Free Dingo: The Dog Who Conquered a Continent by Jackie French Page B

till it had cooled a bit and began to chew. Suddenly he longed for real meat — not shellfish or mangrove worm or bat. Hunter’s meat. There were no pigs, but one of the hopping animals would do.
    He needed to find other people. He hadn’t seen any more smoke in the distance, but that didn’t mean there was no one there. Perhaps they made small hot fires with little smoke. Most of his clan’s fires were like that: dry driftwood that flared hot and almost smokeless.
    He could even try to get back home. Not in a canoe — even if he’d had an adze, or a rock that could be made into an adze head, he knew he didn’t have enough skill to make a canoe that would take him that far. A canoe looked simple, but it had to beperfectly balanced or it rolled over. He’d need years of learning and practice to manage that.
    But he could make a raft, the logs tied together with cord made from twisted inner bark, waterproofed with flame. A raft would take him …
    Not home, he realised. The winds and current had brought him here. Now they’d take him even further away. He couldn’t paddle against them, especially not on a clumsy raft. But if he went further along the coast he might see campfire smoke.
    Perhaps.
    He sagged against the rock. The Rain Season was nearly upon him, with its drenching showers and then its wild storms. If he was caught in a storm now there’d be no sandbank to rescue him. The first giant wave would smash him into the sea.
    The Rain Season meant floods too. He didn’t know this land and how strong the floods and storms might be. At least he was pretty sure he was out of the water’s reach up here — there was no debris among the rocks or in the trees. But once he ventured down onto the grasslands a flood might cut him off from the safety of cliffs and high country, easy meat for crocodiles.
    No, he had to stay here till after the Wet. Alone.
    He came to a decision. The dog had trusted him before. He’d win her back. He’d bring her meat … He grinned at himself. Like a warrior courting a girl he wanted for his wife. There were no girls to win here, but he could try to persuade a dog to be his friend.

CHAPTER 40
The Dog
    It was hard, living by herself. Not the puppies — that had been easy enough, each in its little membrane sac that she’d chewed up so no predator would smell it. She liked the feel of them feeding. Liked the smell of them, that familiar scent of puppy and dog.
    It was good not to be the only dog again.
    It was food that was so difficult — and dangerous too. Back in the pack the uncles brought the mothers and puppies food. That way the mothers didn’t have to leave the puppies alone and vulnerable to hunt.
    The uncles sniffed out danger: few predators would attack a pack of dogs. But there were no uncles here.
    She had sniffed out danger here herself, though she wasn’t sure what it was — the scent was unfamiliar. But it smelled like a meat eater.
    She thought it had smelled her too. And her puppies.
    At least she didn’t have to spend much time away: just long enough to get to Bony Boy’s camp and back. But there were so many things that would gladly kill a small, blind, helpless puppy. Snakes and hawks, to start with. The babies could even just crawl out and fall off the ledge.
    She hated being away, but there was no choice. Instinct told her she had to eat so she could feed her pups. She was hungry again now, but she hesitated, sniffing the air as she poked her head out of the crevice, checking to see if she could smell danger before she slunk away.
    She stopped. The hair on her neck rose. There was another scent. Bony Boy! She pulled herself back into the crevice just as he limped up the path; she let out a low, rumbling growl.
    Humans ate dogs. The almost forgotten fear was back. She wasn’t going to let a hunter have her babies.
    Bony Boy stopped. Had he heard her growl? Something