The wind tosses the leather traces back toward his teammates.
Balto won't allow it. He leans hard to the right, straining against the taut leather. Behind him, arranged in a fan shape, are four other dogs. Balk is just behind him; then Stella, Tem, and Silver.
Sensing the change, the driver calls out, "Git along, dowgs!"
Balto grins. So his master wants speed?
He puts his weight into the harness. Behind him, Balk lets loose a sharp cry. His brown-and-white fur, plastered to him by the wind, flutters wildly.
They finish the run well ahead of the other teams.
Panting, the team settles down on their haunches. There's an almost smug atmosphere around them; they're the lords of the trail, and it shows. Tem circles slowly. Balk throws back his head.
His cry will echo long into the night. In the morning, he'll be greeted by silence.
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