Baby Penguin's Arc

Chapter 7 of 10

The scarf held for the first hill. It slipped on the second. Baby Penguin felt the knot at Trailbreaker's shoulder loosen one notch, then another. The sling sagged. Baby Penguin's belly dropped closer to the swinging paddle. The ground below was loose rock, sharp and gray. Trailbreaker felt it too. He stopped and hitched the knot up with one hand. "Hold still, little one." He pulled the ends tight. The red wool was thin. It had stretched from the weight. He tapped the paddle once and started again. Ten steps later the sling slid again. Baby Penguin's foot brushed a stone. The mother made a sharp sound behind them. "It's falling." "I know," Trailbreaker said. He crouched slow and set Baby Penguin down on a flat rock. The scarf hung limp from his hand, one end frayed where the knot had worked it thin. He stared at it. He rubbed his beard. "Scarf's done," he said. "Won't last the next slope." Baby Penguin's father stepped close, still tied to the mother by the short rope. "Can you fix it?" "No." Trailbreaker set the scarf down. He unshouldered his pack and dug through it. He pulled out a thick wrap of layered fur, brown and cream, stitched in patches. It was heavy. He shook it open. "Kept this for cold nights. It'll hold better than wool." He knelt on the rock. He folded the fur in half, then in half again, until it made a deep pouch. He cut two strips from the frayed scarf with his knife and used them to bind the corners. He worked slow. The father watched. The mother pressed her beak to Baby Penguin's head. "In you go," Trailbreaker said. He lifted Baby Penguin into the fur pouch and settled it against his chest. The hide was stiff and warm. It did not sag. He tied the corner strips behind his neck and tested the weight with a small bounce. The pouch held. "Better," he said. Baby Penguin sat deep in the fur. Only its head showed above the collar. It could still see forward, still watch the notch between the hills. The wind did not reach its belly now. But the fur smelled of old smoke and a stranger's sweat. Nothing about it was penguin. Trailbreaker picked up the ruined scarf and tucked it into his belt. He looked at the sky. The sun had moved. "We lost time," he said. "Have to push hard to reach the flats before dark." The father nodded. The rope pulled tight. They started again, faster now. The paddle tapped quicker. Baby Penguin bounced against Trailbreaker's chest, safe in the heavy wrap, watching the notch draw closer while the light began to fail.