Dew Branchton's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Dew still had no answer about the valley, and now the sky turned purple. His three strays huddled close, their stomachs empty. The bony hound sniffed the cold air. "We need shelter," she said. "By morning, we move on. With or without you." Dew's ears drooped. A pack with no den would not stay a pack for long. His moth landed on his nose. "Find them a roof," she whispered. "Not a promise." Dew lifted his head and sniffed. Through the trees he caught the smell of old wood and smoke. He trotted toward it, and his pack followed. They found a strange cottage. It rose four floors high, its wood carved in swirls and painted bright colors. A wide porch wrapped around the bottom. Dew climbed the steps. The porch was dry and roofed. It was perfect. But a small black Chihuahua in a red ball cap stood in the doorway, blocking the way. "Far enough," the Chihuahua said. He planted his tiny feet. "This is my porch. I guard it. Nobody sleeps here for free." Behind Dew, the hound growled low. The two smaller strays backed down a step. Dew remembered the beetle and the fruit. Words had not moved that beetle. A trade had. "What do you want?" Dew asked. The Chihuahua tipped his cap back. "There's a cat who prowls the woods. Pink, with a horn and a crown. She knocks over my flowerpots every night. Chase her off, and the porch is yours till dawn." Dew's stomach tightened, but he nodded. "Done." He led his pack into the dark yard. Soon he saw her. A pink cat sat beneath a flowerpot, batting it with a paw. A rainbow horn rose from her head. Tap shoes clicked on the stone. She looked up at the four dogs and grinned. The hound lunged. The cat sprang away, laughing, and vanished into the brush. But as Dew turned back, a new shape stepped from the trees. It was tall and pink, with long antlers branching above its head. Its eyes caught the last light. The strays froze. This was no flowerpot thief. The antlered creature lowered its head and stamped. Dew's heart pounded. He could not fight it. But the porch was right there. "Inside the fence!" Dew barked. He herded his pack up the steps and onto the roofed porch. The Chihuahua slammed a little gate behind them. The antlered thing paced the yard, then slipped back into the dark. The Chihuahua let out a breath. "The cat I can handle," he said. "That thing, no. You pulled your pack in fast." He stepped aside. "Sleep here. You earned it." Dew's strays curled on the warm boards, finally safe. The hound looked at Dew with tired eyes and did not threaten to leave. But outside the fence, the antlered creature still walked the woods. Dew knew it would be waiting when they left at dawn.