Mablin Thornwhisker's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Mablin Thornwhisker cradled a hurt sparrow against her fox-red fur and had nowhere to put it. Rain fell through the pines. Her paws were wet, her satchel of bandages was soaked, and the bird's wing bent the wrong way. She had promised herself she would heal the creatures Sherdan's traps kept breaking. But a healer needs a roof, and Mablin had none. She had slept under bushes for a week. Every dry hollow in the forest belonged to someone or held Sherdan's snares. Mablin knew the truth that made her jaw tight: her father had left her a grove. A warm, sheltered place, hers by right. Sherdan hid the deed and swore no such gift existed. Without proof, Mablin stayed homeless while wounded animals suffered. A squeak broke the rain's hush. A tiny dragon dropped onto a fern beside her. Its scales shimmered pink and gold, and its butterfly wings beat too fast to see. It chirped, tilted its head at the sparrow, then tugged Mablin's sleeve with one small claw. "I can't chase games now," Mablin said. The dragon tugged harder. It flew a short way, circled back, and squeaked until she followed. Mablin pushed through wet ferns after it. The dragon led her to a thicket she had passed a dozen times. Behind it stood a hollow oak, wide and dry, its trunk split into a natural doorway. Inside, moss carpeted the floor. The rain could not reach it. Mablin stepped in and set the sparrow down on dry moss at last. Her shoulders loosened. Then she saw why the dragon had brought her here. Tucked against the far wall grew a soft tangle of shrubs and small flowers, vines trailing across the bark. It gave off warmth, like a banked fire. The chill left her fur. She pressed her palm to the flowering cluster. Heat rose into her paw. This was shelter. Real shelter, dry and warm, big enough to lay a dozen hurt creatures in rows. She could work here. She could keep them alive. Mablin gathered fallen branches and closed the doorway against the wind. She splinted the sparrow's wing with a twig and thread from her satchel. The dragon curled beside the bird and hummed, and the sparrow stopped shaking. For the first time in a week, Mablin had a place to do her work. Then she looked closer at the oak's inner wall. Someone had carved a mark there long ago — a thornwhisker sigil, her family's own. Her breath caught. This dry hollow was not lucky wilderness. It sat inside the grove her father had left her. The grove Sherdan swore did not exist. Mablin had found her shelter. She had also found proof that Sherdan lied — and Sherdan would want this place shut before she could claim it. The next day wondering around the area that she could feel a deep connection to, she heard a sweet voice singing a familiar tune. Mablin stood still in her spot, quietly listening and peeking around a tall oak. A woman with bright amber eyes and hair, was happily picking leaves from a small shrub nearby. Who could this woman be and what was she doing here?