Mothman's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Mothman crouched inside the hollow tree, watching the village through the round wooden door. Glowing fungi lit his gray wings. He had two days left to save them all. The bridge would fall. He knew it like he knew his own heartbeat. Outside, the old stone bridge sagged. Cracks ran through its weathered arch. Grass pushed through missing chunks. Villagers still crossed it every hour, baskets in hand, never looking up. Mothman tried again. He flew low over the path, arms wide. A mother screamed and pulled her child away. A farmer dropped his sack and ran. Three tries now. Three failures. His warnings sounded like roars to their ears. He landed beside a haunted willow, breath shaking. A bright dragonfly drifted past his face. It hovered. It was not afraid. It looked at him like he was just another swamp creature, nothing more. Mothman watched it dance away toward the bridge. Something shifted inside him. If he could not speak to the villagers, he would have to find someone they would listen to. He turned back to his glowing tree and started planning. The direct path was closed. He needed a messenger.