Honey Shroom's Arc

Chapter 9 of 11

Dusk dropped fast over the meadow. Honey Shroom crouched by the hives with the cub tucked against his coat. The barricade creaked. Then it cracked. A heavy shape slammed through the wooden slats, snapping them like dry twigs. The mother bear stood in the gap, breath steaming, eyes locked on the bundle in his arms. Behind him, the hives buzzed loud against the wire. He had one breath to choose. He chose the cub. The hives could be rebuilt. A life could not. He set the wrapped sack down fast on the grass, a small red stain darkening its side, and stepped clear of the bees. The mother bear charged past him, claws raking the splintered fence as she barreled through the gap. She reached the sack and stopped. She sniffed the cloth, then nudged the cub with her nose. The hives roared behind the wire, a thick swarm pressing the mesh, but the bear did not turn for them. She lifted the cub gently in her jaws. Honey Shroom watched her carry it into the trees. The hives still stood. The barricade did not. He had traded wood for peace, and the bees were saved by his choice, not his fight. But the trench still gaped at his back, and the serpent had not yet come.