Honey Shroom's Arc

Chapter 5 of 11

By midday the hum of the remaining hives sharpened, and Honey Shroom felt the platform tremble under his boots. He crouched low and watched the trench. Loose pebbles slid down the clay walls. A dry scraping sound rose from deep inside the split — slow, steady, climbing. Something was coming up. The earth groaned. The trench walls shifted, rock grinding against rock, and a fresh seam tore open near the top. Dust puffed up in a thin cloud. Honey Shroom reached into his pocket and closed his hand around the old brass whistle he carried for the bees. His thumb found the crack along its side. One sharp blow would call the hives to the tree line. One sharp blow would end his watch here. A paw appeared first — broad, tan, pads dark with soil. Then a shoulder, then a head. A mountain lion pulled itself over the lip of the trench and stood blinking in the sun. It did not crouch to spring. It did not bare its teeth. It shook the dirt from its coat, looked at Honey Shroom on his low platform, and let out a slow breath. Its yellow eyes were calm. Whatever had driven it up from below, it wanted no fight. Honey Shroom eased his thumb off the whistle. He did not blow it. He held his ground. The lion stepped past the platform, padded across the meadow, and slipped into the trees near the empty hive boxes. Honey Shroom stayed crouched a long moment after it was gone. The creature was not what had emptied his hives — it had fled the same thing. Whatever pushed up from below was still down there, and now he knew his bees were not the only ones running from it.