Dew Branchton's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Dawn came grey and cold. The antlered creature was gone from the yard, but Dew's pack still had no den beyond this porch, and no idea which way the valley lay. Dew needed someone who knew these woods. The Chihuahua only guarded the porch. But through a low window, Dew saw someone inside the colorful cottage. A small, fluffy black and white dog sat in a chair, wearing round glasses. Papers and maps covered the table before them. This dog studied the woods. This dog could point the way. Dew scratched at the door. It opened a crack. The fluffy dog peeked out, then shrank back. "Go away," they whispered. Their paws shook. "The pink one. I saw it last night. The horn. The crown. It sat on my windowsill." Dew understood. The pink cat had frightened them too badly to talk. "I can't help you," the fluffy dog said. "I can't even cross the yard." They shut the door. Dew sat on the cold boards. Words would not open that door. His moth landed on his ear. "Proof," she whispered. "Show them the cat is nothing." One of his strays, a scruffy yellow puppy in a folded paper hat, bounced to his side. "I'm fast," the puppy said. "I chased her once. I'll do it again." Dew looked at the small dog's bright eyes. He made his plan. That night Dew and the yellow puppy waited by the flowerpots. Soon the pink cat crept out, tap shoes clicking, horn glowing. She raised a paw to tip a pot. Dew barked. The puppy darted left. The cat spun, confused. Dew circled right. Between them, they herded her toward the window where the fluffy dog watched. The cat hissed and swatted. The puppy snapped at her tail. She leaped, missed, and tumbled into an empty pot. For one moment the fearsome princess cat sat stuck, legs kicking, crown crooked. She looked silly. The fluffy dog's eyes went wide behind their glasses. Then the cat wriggled free and bolted into the brush, gone for the night. The door opened. The fluffy dog stepped onto the porch, still trembling, but out. "You cornered her," they said. "She ran from you." They pushed their glasses up. "She's not a monster. She's just a thief." "I'm Dew. I lead these strays. I need to learn these woods." The fluffy dog studied him, then nodded slowly. "I'm Smarty Patches. I know every path for miles." They glanced past the fence, where the dark trees swallowed the trail. "I'll teach you. But first you should know what else walks out there. The pink cat was never the thing you needed to fear." Dew had won his guide. He had a way to learn the woods at last. But Smarty Patches looked toward the trees, and their trembling had not fully stopped.