When it all begins, the little dog doesn't have a place to belong or a person to call her own. She doesn't even have a real name yet--until someone tags her with the nickname Wombat because she's stout, sturdy, and has ears that look like furry cookies. On the day she wakes up and the air tastes wrong, and an ugly ribbon of red and gold and orange flickers on the hillside, Wombat hears a voice: The right way is the wrong way. The wrong way is the right way. And the wrong way is closer to the fire. Closer to danger. Wombat has always wondered how some dogs find their person, and she wonders now if listening to this voice will help her find hers. So she listens, because she knows that whoever the voice is leading her to may need help.
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