Dew Branchton stood on a tree stump and barked his big plan to no one. Three strays watched from the shadows and did not come closer. He told them about the hidden valley, the one where dogs never grew old and treats fell like rain. The strays only blinked. Dew wore his blue sweater vest to look like a leader. He had grey fur, black patches on his eye and side, and floppy ears that drooped when he was nervous. His ears were drooping now. "Follow me and you'll never be hungry again," Dew said. The biggest stray, a bony hound, snorted. "We don't know you," she said. "Why would we walk anywhere behind a dog we just met?" The others turned and trotted off into the brush. Dew's heart sank. He was one small dog with a huge dream and no pack at all. His pet moth landed on his nose. She had blue and pink wings and a tiny flower tucked behind her head. "They need proof," she whispered. "Not a speech." Dew lifted his head. She was right. Strays followed dogs who could find food, not dogs who only talked about it. Dew sniffed the ground and caught something sweet. He followed the smell to a huge tree covered in purple blossoms. Beneath it lay fallen fruit, soft and ripe, more than one dog could ever eat. But a fat green beetle sat on the biggest piece. The beetle wore a little hat and refused to move. "This is my fruit," it said, tipping its hat. "I found it first." Dew's stomach growled, but he thought of the hungry strays instead. "Share it," Dew said, "and I'll bring more creatures to sing your praises." The beetle liked that idea. It stepped aside and let Dew roll the fruit into a pile. The moth flew in loops above, guiding the way. Dew called out again, louder this time. The three strays crept back, drawn by the smell. The bony hound stopped at the fruit pile and stared. "You found all this?" she asked. Dew nodded. "There's more where we're going. A whole valley of it." This time the hound did not snort. She lowered her head and ate. The other two followed. When the fruit was gone, the hound looked at Dew with new eyes. "Lead," she said. "We'll walk behind you." The two smaller strays pressed close to Dew's side. The beetle tipped its hat and wished them luck. Dew finally had a pack, three dogs who chose to follow him. But as the strays settled in, the hound spoke again. "Where is this valley, exactly?" Dew opened his mouth and found he had no answer. He knew the valley existed. He did not know the way. His new pack waited, hungry and trusting, and Dew had promised a road he could not yet find.

Dew still had no answer about the valley, and now the sky turned purple. His three strays huddled close, their stomachs empty. The bony hound sniffed the cold air. "We need shelter," she said. "By morning, we move on. With or without you." Dew's ears drooped. A pack with no den would not stay a pack for long. His moth landed on his nose. "Find them a roof," she whispered. "Not a promise." Dew lifted his head and sniffed. Through the trees he caught the smell of old wood and smoke. He trotted toward it, and his pack followed. They found a strange cottage. It rose four floors high, its wood carved in swirls and painted bright colors. A wide porch wrapped around the bottom. Dew climbed the steps. The porch was dry and roofed. It was perfect. But a small black Chihuahua in a red ball cap stood in the doorway, blocking the way. "Far enough," the Chihuahua said. He planted his tiny feet. "This is my porch. I guard it. Nobody sleeps here for free." Behind Dew, the hound growled low. The two smaller strays backed down a step. Dew remembered the beetle and the fruit. Words had not moved that beetle. A trade had. "What do you want?" Dew asked. The Chihuahua tipped his cap back. "There's a cat who prowls the woods. Pink, with a horn and a crown. She knocks over my flowerpots every night. Chase her off, and the porch is yours till dawn." Dew's stomach tightened, but he nodded. "Done." He led his pack into the dark yard. Soon he saw her. A pink cat sat beneath a flowerpot, batting it with a paw. A rainbow horn rose from her head. Tap shoes clicked on the stone. She looked up at the four dogs and grinned. The hound lunged. The cat sprang away, laughing, and vanished into the brush. But as Dew turned back, a new shape stepped from the trees. It was tall and pink, with long antlers branching above its head. Its eyes caught the last light. The strays froze. This was no flowerpot thief. The antlered creature lowered its head and stamped. Dew's heart pounded. He could not fight it. But the porch was right there. "Inside the fence!" Dew barked. He herded his pack up the steps and onto the roofed porch. The Chihuahua slammed a little gate behind them. The antlered thing paced the yard, then slipped back into the dark. The Chihuahua let out a breath. "The cat I can handle," he said. "That thing, no. You pulled your pack in fast." He stepped aside. "Sleep here. You earned it." Dew's strays curled on the warm boards, finally safe. The hound looked at Dew with tired eyes and did not threaten to leave. But outside the fence, the antlered creature still walked the woods. Dew knew it would be waiting when they left at dawn.

Dawn came grey and cold. The antlered creature was gone from the yard, but Dew's pack still had no den beyond this porch, and no idea which way the valley lay. Dew needed someone who knew these woods. The Chihuahua only guarded the porch. But through a low window, Dew saw someone inside the colorful cottage. A small, fluffy black and white dog sat in a chair, wearing round glasses. Papers and maps covered the table before them. This dog studied the woods. This dog could point the way. Dew scratched at the door. It opened a crack. The fluffy dog peeked out, then shrank back. "Go away," they whispered. Their paws shook. "The pink one. I saw it last night. The horn. The crown. It sat on my windowsill." Dew understood. The pink cat had frightened them too badly to talk. "I can't help you," the fluffy dog said. "I can't even cross the yard." They shut the door. Dew sat on the cold boards. Words would not open that door. His moth landed on his ear. "Proof," she whispered. "Show them the cat is nothing." One of his strays, a scruffy yellow puppy in a folded paper hat, bounced to his side. "I'm fast," the puppy said. "I chased her once. I'll do it again." Dew looked at the small dog's bright eyes. He made his plan. That night Dew and the yellow puppy waited by the flowerpots. Soon the pink cat crept out, tap shoes clicking, horn glowing. She raised a paw to tip a pot. Dew barked. The puppy darted left. The cat spun, confused. Dew circled right. Between them, they herded her toward the window where the fluffy dog watched. The cat hissed and swatted. The puppy snapped at her tail. She leaped, missed, and tumbled into an empty pot. For one moment the fearsome princess cat sat stuck, legs kicking, crown crooked. She looked silly. The fluffy dog's eyes went wide behind their glasses. Then the cat wriggled free and bolted into the brush, gone for the night. The door opened. The fluffy dog stepped onto the porch, still trembling, but out. "You cornered her," they said. "She ran from you." They pushed their glasses up. "She's not a monster. She's just a thief." "I'm Dew. I lead these strays. I need to learn these woods." The fluffy dog studied him, then nodded slowly. "I'm Smarty Patches. I know every path for miles." They glanced past the fence, where the dark trees swallowed the trail. "I'll teach you. But first you should know what else walks out there. The pink cat was never the thing you needed to fear." Dew had won his guide. He had a way to learn the woods at last. But Smarty Patches looked toward the trees, and their trembling had not fully stopped.