Fable's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Fable chased the black cloak until it slipped past a ridge of stone and vanished. He stopped, panting. Around him the fog thickened. It rolled in low, gray and cold, and pressed against his fur. He had no den here. No burrow, no hollow, no roof. The mist crept closer with each breath, and his own relic was gone, the one thing that once held it back. He needed shelter, and fast. He scanned the dark. Two great pillars of stone rose ahead, split by a deep cut. Mist poured up from the bottom of the ravine like breath from the ground. Layered ledges climbed each wall. Maybe a fox could tuck into one, above the worst of the fog. Fable ran to the base and started to climb. His claws scraped wet rock. Halfway up, his paw slipped. He caught a ledge and hung. The fog rose faster below him now, licking at his tail. He was losing the race. "You climb the wrong wall, fox." The voice was small and close. A light bloomed beside his ear. Fable knew it at once. The fairy from the old oak, the same one who had led him to the right fork. Her pale wings shed color across the stone. "You again," Fable said. His grip trembled. "I need somewhere to hide. The fog will take me." "The fog does not climb the far ledge." She drifted across the cut to the other pillar. "There. A dry shelf. Reach it and you live the night." Fable eyed the gap. Too wide to jump from here. But a narrow spine of rock bridged the two pillars, just below her light. He pulled himself up, tail low, and crept across it. The stone was slick. He kept his eyes on the fairy and did not look down. He reached the far shelf and pressed flat against the rock. Below, the mist churned but did not rise this high. He was safe. His heart slowed. Then he saw it. Across the ravine, tucked against the base of a slope, stood a crooked log cabin. Warped beams. A stone chimney. One window glowed purple, the other green, both sick with light. Smoke curled from the roof. The witch's home. Fable had found where the cloak was going. "She keeps your relic there," the fairy whispered. "Behind that door." Fable stared at the glowing windows. The witch was inside now, with what she stole from his den. He had a shelter. He had found her. But the cabin sat across the ravine, past the fog, behind a locked and guarded door. "How do I get inside?" Fable asked. But when he turned, the light was gone. The fairy had left him again, alone on the ledge, watching the sick glow of the witch's windows.