“Why?” he asked, picking up the conversation, but Copper thought he already knew the answer.

Storm sighed a happy/sad sigh and fixed Copper with his pained brown eyes. “Ever get the feeling when you’re doing something you love, and you feel this kind of flame inside your heart, and it gets bigger and bigger until it fills everything inside you, and you feel like you’re flying and nothing in the world can ruin the happiness you feel right at that moment…” Storm’s brown eyes seemed to drill into Copper’s eyes. “Do you ever get that feeling, kid?” Copper shook his head once more, and he felt stricken when the older husky’s eyes seemed to deepen in sadness. “Then you’re barely living, kid. I get that feeling every time I fight. I’m good at it, or was, and I love it. I love it even more than I love my Daisy…I met her before my owner’s company went bankrupt and he started taking me to the fights. That was six months ago. I left her today…You don’t forget about that message, alright?” Storm’s eyes were so full of hurt that Copper couldn’t look at them anymore. He turned away, and the two proceeded in silence to the lighted entrance door where noise was spilling out from inside.

Copper couldn’t believe the sacrifice Storm had made just to get that feeling. How could happiness be turned so inside out and backward round? To leave your happy life with your mate for a ‘happier’ life in the fighting ring where you didn’t know which breath would be your last! Copper was left utterly confused, and a shallow crater of sadness for Storm had formed inside him. The wolf-dog forced himself to pay attention to what was going on, and refused to look Storm in the eye.

One man stood at the door waving people through. The driver and the other three men from the sleigh went in, and Johnson appeared at Copper’s side again.

“Go on ahead, men!” the man at the door shouted, “We’re going to have some real good fights tonight, I can feel it!”

“Marcus!” a rough voice shouted from within. “You’re supposed to be doing security! Do you want any police officers lugging us off to jail as soon as the ‘contest’ starts?”

Marcus winced guiltily. “Sorry!” He stopped Johnson from entering. “Sorry, sir, but you’ll have to let me search your pockets and things.” Johnson obliged, and as Marcus checked, Copper heard him mutter, “This establishment has been up and running for more’n a year now, and we’ve never had any dang cops here! Just because more people have been coming recently doesn’t mean we’re going to start one night and hear ‘Freeze! You are surrounded!’ ” Marcus straightened up and nodded. “Thank you, sir. You can go on through now. Good luck tonight!”

“Thanks,” Johnson said, and grabbed onto Copper’s collar before stepping inside. Copper sighed. ‘Here we go again with the collar-grabbing business.’

Owner and dog pushed themselves through the huge crowd of fifty to sixty people, mostly men, to the near front where a middle-aged man in somewhat neater clothes than the rest of the crowd stood on a stage…or, as Copper found out by sticking his head underneath, twelve huge crates piled up in twos and covered with a red tablecloth. The man yelled something, and everyone went quiet.

“Alright, everybody, it looks like everyone’s here.” Marcus closed the door and joined the back of the crowd. “And, it looks like we have some new arrivals!” He glanced down at Johnson. “Who are you?”

Johnson cleared his throat and pulled at his beard, a sure sign of apprehension, Copper knew. “Er…I’m Tom Mundy, and this is my dog, Comet.”

Copper’s ears flicked up at the sound of the strange names, but then realized Johnson wanted phony names so he wouldn’t be caught doing something illegal, especially with one of Balto’s pups. Copper glanced over at Storm, who had drifted off to the other side of the room with his owner, the sleigh driver. The dark gray husky nodded gravely, and Copper somehow knew he would still get called ‘kid’ no matter what.

“Welcome, Mundy and Comet,” the man on the podium said with a smirk. He turned back to the crowd and pounced on the other newcomers. “And you? What’s your name?”

“Randall Stevenson,” the dark-skinned man with a big German shepherd beside him said, “And this is my dog, Sherry.” They went around the room with introductions, and finally after awhile the man had had enough.

“WELCOME TO THE BOREALIS FIGHTS!” he roared, nearly blowing the whole room away. “Or the Northern Fights, if you want to say it the easy way. It means the same thing. I’m Nicholas Carson, but you must all call me Mr. Carson, or I will happily chop your head off and throw it to the dogs.” There was no humor in his voice. “Enough chitchat. The first fighters will be…Stevenson’s Sherry against Matthews’ Storm! Let the betting begin!”

Spotlights dimmed, and for the first time Copper noticed a fighting ring to the right of the crowd. It was nothing more than a circle of dirt with a metal gate hammered into the ground around the edges, yet it set Copper’s heart pounding. Dogs had died in there…they had fought in it, and they were going to fight now…Storm had seen it all…Storm was going to fight now…

The crowd yelled out money prices to Mr. Carson, and two heavy men waded into the crowd, picked up the female German shepherd and Copper’s older husky friend, and tossed them into the ring.

Copper didn’t know when the fighting started. He was too busy watching Storm, wild-eyed, as the older husky raised himself to his feet, his limbs shaking, and then the female shepherd attacked, biting deep into Storm’s shoulder. Storm didn’t hesitate. He shook Sherry off and flung her across the ring, and she landed against the fence, her ribs scraping down the metal. Storm’s chest heaved in and out, and he watched alertly as Sherry hauled herself up, and, snarling, charged at him like a mad bull. Storm coolly leaped to the side, and as soon as the German shepherd chugged past he threw himself onto her back and flattened her to the ground. Then there took place the fiercest fighting Copper had ever seen. Snarling emitted from both fighting dogs, and they fought so madly and blindly that Copper couldn’t tell where which dog started and the other ended. A steady trickle of red blood began to pool around the two, and then a high-pitched shriek sliced through the air and cut everything silent.

Storm slowly rolled himself off of Sherry and limped to the side, licking his wounds. Sherry whimpered. She was so weak she couldn’t get up. Both ears were shredded, and a long red wound split her muzzle down the middle. Bruises throbbed under her dark fur, and one foot was at an unnatural angle.

Mr. Carson suddenly cleared his throat, and the people rooting for Storm cheered, and Sherry’s supporters booed and grumbled. “Storm is once again champion! Congrats, Mr. Matthews! Pay up, men!…Next up, Anderson’s Blitz versus Matthews’ Storm!”

Sherry was dragged off the ring by one of the burly men, and the other one threw a white Samoyed into the ring, and another fight began.

Copper watched many fights that night, and in every single one of them Storm annihilated his opponent in record time. Storm’s owner, the driver, was practically dancing with glee at how much money he was getting. The fighting raged on, and the whole building started to reek with the stink of dog blood and dog sweat. The dogs in the ring slipped and slid in their own blood and the blood of the dogs before them. Copper tried to figure out why this was heaven to Storm. To him, it was the closest he had ever come to hell on earth.

Storm clamped his jaw onto his rival’s neck and threw him to the ground. The mutt gasped, but couldn’t move. More cheers erupted for the winning husky, money was won, the mutt was dragged away, and Mr. Carson announced the last challenge.

“This’ll be the last ‘contest’ for the night, folks. Mr. Matthews, congrats on your dog’s success tonight!” The driver nodded to the crowd, who cheered. Mr. Carson cleared his throat a little louder than necessary, and all attention was turned back to him. “Now, for the last fight tonight…” Copper could almost hear the drum roll. “…Carson’s Taya against Matthews’ Storm!”

Copper waited for the applause and cheers, but a strange sound made his ears perk up, and he looked around in confusion. There was nothing. Silence. The crowd seemed to hold its breath, and as Copper looked over at Storm he saw the fighting fire slightly die in the older husky’s eyes as a perplexed expression grew on his face. The two heavy men stalked behind the stage and carried out between them the fiercest, most furious looking dog Copper had ever seen.

She was a chow/malamute mix with a malamute build and red-gold fur like a Chow Chow. She was a bit smaller than a malamute, probably the Chow in her, and her eyes were like livid blue fire, so angry they could almost be spitting sparks. She was anything but pretty, but no person or dog called out a witty remark about her features. They all watched her with respect, or fear, as was the case for some of the smaller dogs. Copper could see why. The chow/malamute kinda looked like a bomb ready to explode.

She was tossed into the ring by the two men, a bit gentler than