It was a breathlessly hot day, and the feral dogs were mostly gathered in the shade of an olive grove. Big Denzil watched his mate pick her way between the sleeping forms. He greeted her.
“Do you walk well, mother of my pups?”
“I do,” then she flattened her ears to indicate amusement. “One’s eldest male pup is feeling less well though.”
“Tell on, my beloved.”
“He and Three-Toes found a dead fish down by the cistern. A long dead fish. Three-Toes’ dam warned them.”
“But they knew better?”
“They did. And they were as sick as humans…”