DogForge by Casey Calouette

mechanical movement. Denali knew him well.
    She leapt out in front and bared her teeth. “Krunk!”
    Krunk skidded back. In a moment he tumbled sideways with his tail wrapped up in his harness. His sleepy eyes were wide and his mouth was on the edge of a howl. “Denali!”
    Denali grinned and padded up next to him.
    “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
    Denali helped him right the sled and untangled the raw caribou hide harness from his rear leg. “Says who?”
    Krunk kept glancing down the wider passage. “Munin. He said—”
    “You know me.” Denali tugged on the back of the sled.
    “So why?”
    Denali ruffled her nose into the flaps of the caribou hide. She hopped up onto the sled and pushed the flaps aside. The hiding spot seemed good enough, no one would look inside an empty sled.
    “Why did you lead them on?”
    “You know Samson and Sabot, right?”
    “Who doesn’t?”
    “So what do you think?”
    Krunk scrunched up his nose. He sat heavily, propped out his rear leg, and strummed at an itch on the bridge of his nose. His tail swished slowly. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
    “You don’t have to!” Denali said, as she pulled the flaps over her head.
    “What are you doing?” Krunk growled.
    “Pull!”
    “They’re looking for you,” Krunk added, but began to pull slowly.
    “Who?”
    “Munin and Samus. Tohan is waiting at the outside. How’d you get past him?”
    “He’s old and fat, how do you think?”
    “Hrm,” Krunk grumbled. “You’re gonna owe me.”
    “I already owe you.”
    “Hrm.”
    Krunk pulled the empty sled at a plodding pace.
    The passage had the look of a metal cavern, and not the inside of something, well, something else. Denali watched the gnawed walls pass her by through a crease in the hide.
    Doors came at regular intervals. Great octagonal things with giant bolts set in the center. The bolts were gnawed, as was anything else of value that a tooth could fit on. What was inside, no one knew, the mechanisms to open them were long gone.
    Denali remembered a game she once played as a pup. All of the younglings would see who could creep forward and touch a paw onto the cool metal door. Behind, everyone else would growl and snarl. The pin-pricks of fear came back to her and she couldn’t help but smile.
    Her mind drifted as she felt the sled crawl upward. She’d owe Krunk for this. Marmot. He loved Marmot. She knew that she’d have to spend many a day digging. She always liked Krunk, he was slow, but excelled at the job given to all those who hadn’t passed the trials—pulling salvage.
    Deeper inside the adult dogs, those who passed the trial, would gnaw and use the metal teeth to rip out steel and wire salvage. Salvage, the thing they all paid to the machine gods. With it they gained a tough of strength or healing for a wound, or sharpened teeth. With that they could fight, they could win, but most of all they could survive.
    A youth, with no such enhancement, could only help by pulling what they harvested. Denali was blessed that her size was too small to pull, but plenty small enough to ferret herself into the tight places. She normally didn’t find much, but she liked spending plenty of time acting like it was hard work. Though she was always careful to get plenty dirty after waking up from the nap.
    Krunk stopped. He itched himself and his foot slapped against the floor.
    A bark echoed down the hall.
    “Thanks, Krunk,” Denali whispered, and kept still.
    The sled pulled forward and stopped abruptly.
    “Did you see Grat, or the bitch?” Munin asked.
    “No,” Krunk replied.
    “Move,” Munin said, stifling a yawn.
    Denali watched through a slit in the caribou. Munin sat down heavily and rested his massive gray head onto his paws. She shivered in the cold and felt good to be past that one.
    Her eyes snapped open and she realized she’d fallen asleep. The sled was silent. She was about to ask Krunk what was going on when a nose poked inside.
    Denali