"Hmm . . . I messed up." Danger spoke the statement with the same calm tone as someone commenting apathetically on the weather--but the fact of the matter was, he had messed up. Pretty badly. If he'd been anyone else but himself, he'd probably be shrieking for help and snot-sobbing his eyes out right now.

Alas, Danger was Danger, and the pallid blue eyes that should have been shedding tears remained clear--albeit sightless--as they gazed into the abyss. He saw no point in getting himself all upset over his current situation; not like that would magically transport him from this precarious spot to a safer perch. Sure, the gnarled naked branches of the dying tree were digging into his tender armpits something fierce, but they were the only thing suspending him from the chasm below. Now he pondered his misjudgment on the distance between the ledge behind him and the jump he'd tried to make across.

Meanwhile, his hind legs dangled uselessly in the air, the ground so far below he couldn't touch it even if he stretched his toes out. What had screwed Danger up was the lack of water running through the chasm; usually he heard the space running liquid created between two cliffs, and engineered his leaps accordingly. This gap, however, was utterly silent. Not even a quick yip into emptiness had prepared Danger properly. It should have, though . . . was he losing his touch? As he thought it, the inky soldier pinned his ears back, the claws of his forepaws scratching lines into bark. No. Impossible. There was no way Danger had lost the razor-sharp instincts that had kept him alive for so long. If he couldn't help himself, nobody would. And as annoying as life could be, he preferred it to whatever awaited him if he failed to rescue himself in time.

Giving a heroic flex of abdominal muscles, Danger tried once more to heave himself up. A loud wooden CRACK warned him from trying any harder. Okay . . . he was definitely not getting out of here like that. Next Danger turned his muzzle downward and yipped once more into the chasm, his extremely sensitive ears dissecting every echo as it reverberated into his brain. The gap was a little wider than his entire body-length, muzzle to tail-tip. Nice.

Danger twisted himself sideways--and flung himself into nothing.

His front paws hit the wall of earth behind him--as well as his face, which hurt like a bitch. Talons dug into hard-packed soil, hips followed shoulders and hind legs followed hips until his back feet struck the cliff, and then Danger pressed off with his upper body to hit the opposite side the same way. He zig-zagged down the chasm like a freak until the acceleration of his descent proved too much and he landed with a violent THUD on ground zero. Limbs in a heap. Blood in his mouth. Alive, more or less.

Alive . . . and still hungry. Groaning, Danger hefted himself up (nothing broken, thank god) and limped on his way. The first interesting scent he ran into didn't belong to prey, but to Bright Moon's new Alpha: Summer. Unconsciously, Danger's tail began to wag. He wasn't well acquainted with the other brute, but Summer hadn't given Danger a reason to dislike him yet. Actually, he'd given Danger something much better: a rank. To him! The lame blind cur! Iota knight of Bright Moon . . . it had a nice ring to it. Of course, the pitch-black beast honestly didn't believe he deserved the honor, yet he possessed enough manners not to blurt such a fact to Summer. Maybe he should go thank Summer in person? Yeah--that'd be the right thing to do. Danger silently followed his Alpha's trail , not questioning when the path curled around toward the barren edge of the territory still scarred by ash.

"Oy, Summer," Danger called out when he felt his paws sink into blank, dead soil. "Hope I'm not bothering you, I wanted . . ."

Oh NO. Another scent. A FEMALE scent. Danger's already expressionless face when even more impassive, his body turning into stone, because although he was blind he knew exactly how he must look to the lady he sensed near Summer. Caked in dirt, twigs twisted in his fur, a goose-egg growing where he'd bumped his head . . . shit.