They went to a place that the man, with much trouble finding the right word, eventually called Pride. There was a great and pervasive animal-smell here, even with a human-form nose, with so many different scents that Kyo could not pick most of them out. There was the mud-stink of pigs and a feathery whiff of some sort of bird. And, of course, the heavy, hard-working smell of cattle and horses. Here and there people rushed about or stood still, all of them paying mind to whatever duties they had. Animals were everywhere, as far as he could see. They kept to groups of their kind, flocks or herds, ignoring the busy human-forms dotted among them and doing what animals did.
In his arms the pup went wild with wiggling, trying to see, to chase, and to the side Ramsay chuckled again.
It was not exactly one place, Kyo saw, but all places. The herds really did go as far as he could see; he stood on tiptoe and craned his neck, looking back, and the herds stretched out, around, throughout what looked like the entire city, blending into other people's places and sometimes into what was called other people's stock. He had known, of course, that the tent-city had animals, especially horses, because how could he not see that, smell that, hear that? But he hadn't realized there were so many! This place was the most concentrated he had seen, with far many more animals than people, and it was amazing. There were so many that his hackles might have risen, had he been coyote. So many he and his dogs could not have eaten them all, even if he ate them all day for every day until he choked and died. Or at least, it looked like that many at this time.
Beside him, Ramsay patted his arm, taking in his wide eyes, and led him on.
They came to a place that smelled like sheep, though these were not exactly the same as the kind he was used to, the ones that could run straight up a rock-cliff. Somehow they were softer-looking, much woollier, fatter, more blank-faced complacent, and with smaller than usual horns. Stock-sheep, he thought, looking at them. Less wild. Drykas-sheep, having lived near people for too long and having been fed too well to really be the same as the others that he knew.
People watched these, just as they had watched all the other animals, with doctor-types checking over a few of them to see if they were healthy-- something that made Kyo nervous. They didn't look at him however, and Ramsay's solid, friendly presence beside was enough to calm him again. The man whistled, not unlike how Kyo had learned to whistle, and two dogs, one male and one female, detached from watching the herd, skirting around the edges, low and fast.
These were of the type that Pack was, and when Pack saw them, especially the female, he yelped so lonesomely and dreadfully that Kyo had to let him down. The pup raced over to touch noses with the female, and she turned to lick his head softly. Suddenly, Kyo understood. "Mother," he said, and Ramsay nodded, pointing first to the male, then the female. "Thunder. Lightning. As you saw. In Pavi," and he said the two names again, but this time in his people's own measured, metered speak. The two dogs perked their ears when their names were called, the male in particular holding his head erect and forward, almost proudly.
They were pretty animals, strong-looking in a whip-sharp way, sleek. Different from the shape of Kyo's dogs, who were more muscled and heavier and much bigger, more powerful. More like the coyote, actually, and around the same size. The female was darker, smaller, with a clever look in her hazel eyes. The male was lighter with more white than black on his strange-patterned coat, and the black that was there had a tint of silver. The male was older, more stately. A prize-dog, obviously a dog of importance from his demeanor. Very handsome. Kyo thought Pack looked more like the female, built smaller and springier with more black spots to him, though he had his father's --Thunder's-- fast, attentive ears.
"Hunt-dogs?" Kyo asked, as the two canines sniffed at him, looking surprised by his scent-- that of a coyote. The father-dog's fur rose a little, teeth showing white, and Ramsay reached to run a hand down his head and back, settling him.
"Not hunt. Herd. You said pup-dog has no spark. Has spark. Not a hunting spark. Is a herding spark. A spark of his parents." Kyo still didn't understand. "Watch," Ramsay said, pointing to the sheep, making some unknown calls
--commands?-- in whistles and a few short words. The dogs moved as one. "See."
