Quickly I shifted him this way and that, scanning for wounds. He had both ears, and his face was fine. I patted along his wings, which still looked too short to keep him aloft. Bright red blood stained my sleeve, but so far he seemed to be in one unperforated piece.

“Tell Akila,” Total gasped, eyelids fluttering, “tell her she’s always been the only one.” Akila is the Alaskan Malamute Total had fallen for back on the Wendy K., the boat where we lived with a bunch of scientists on our way to Antarctica.

“Shh,” I said. “I’m still looking for holes.”

“I don’t have many regrets,” Total rambled weakly. “True, I thought about a career in the theater, once our adventures waned. I know it’s just a crazy dream, but I always hoped for just one chance to play the Dane before I died.”

“Play the huh?” I said absently, feeling his ribs. Nothing broken. “Is that a game?”

Total moaned and closed his eyes.

Then I found it: the source of the blood, the place where he’d been shot.

“Total?” I said, and got a slight whimper. “You have a boo-boo on your tail.”

“What?” He opened his eyes and curled to peer at his short tail. He wagged it experimentally, outrage appearing on his face as he realized a tiny chunk of flesh was missing near the tip. “I’m hit! I’m bleeding! Those scoundrels will pay for this!”

“I think a Band-Aid is probably all you need.” I struggled to keep a straight face.

Fang swerved closer to me, big and supremely graceful, like a black panther with wings.

Oh, God. I’m so stupid. Forget I just said that.

“How’s he doing?” Fang asked, nodding at Total.

“He needs a Band-Aid,” I said. A look passed between me and Fang, full of suppressed humor, relief, understanding, love -

Forget I said that too. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

“Got your sniper,” Fang went on, pointing downward.