Ally's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Ally held still at the edge of the pond. Four shaggy giants watched her from the far bank. The big man stood tallest, his line forgotten in the water. Behind him crouched two more, broad and brown, their eyes dark and steady. The little one pointed at her and chattered. Ally knew one wrong move would send them charging. She would be chased off before she ever touched a trout. So she did not move toward the fish. She did the opposite. Ally lowered her front legs and dropped her chest to the grass. Her tail swept slow behind her. She rolled onto her back and showed her belly to the sky. It was the oldest trick she knew. It told any angry thing, I am no threat. Her tongue lolled. She stayed soft and loose in the soft meadow grass. The big man grunted. The others did not move. The little one took one step closer, then another. Ally held her belly to the sky and waited. She did not snap. She did not bolt. A small shaggy hand touched her ribs. Ally thumped her tail harder against the ground. The little one laughed, a wild high sound, and buried both hands in her black fur. Ally licked the small face. The little one shrieked with joy. The big man rumbled something low. The two others rose. Ally's heart pounded. She flipped to her feet, ready to run. But the big man was not coming to chase her. He reached into a bucket at his side. He pulled out a trout, long and silver and flapping. He held it toward the little one. The little one pointed at Ally instead. The big man paused. Then he tossed the fish. It landed in the grass an arm's length from Ally's nose. She stared at it. She looked up at the big man. He watched her with his dark eyes and did not frown. Ally pounced. She clamped the trout in her jaws. It was cold and slick and better than anything she had smelled on that porch for weeks. She ate it in four fast bites by the water's edge. The little one clapped. The family went back to their lines as if a dog eating their catch was nothing strange. Ally had done it. She had won a trout at last. Her belly was warm and full. But one fish was not enough. She looked at the bucket by the big man's feet. It held many more, and he had only thrown her the one. The little one liked her. The big man had allowed her. The grown ones, though, still watched her with flat, careful eyes. To eat again, she would need more than a single lucky trout. She would need the whole family to want her there.