Mothman's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

They reached the edge of the village before moonrise. Mothman stayed back among the reeds while Mothette walked into the lamplight alone. Her starry shawl caught the glow of the torches. A dragonfly drifted past her shoulder and vanished. She turned once to look at him, then kept walking. Villagers gathered fast around her. She held up both hands and spoke plainly. She told them the bridge was failing. She told them the wood was already groaning if they stopped to listen. She told them the creature they had been running from was not hunting them. He had been trying to warn them. She said his name. The crowd went quiet, then loud. A man near the front said he had heard the bridge creak that morning and thought it was the wind. A woman said her son crossed it twice a day. Mothette did not raise her voice. She said, I have been wrong about small things before. I am not wrong about this. Go and listen to the wood yourselves. Then decide. A cluster of them broke off toward the bridge with lanterns. Mothman watched from the reeds as they leaned over the rail and cupped their ears. One of them stepped back fast. Another called for rope and planks. Someone ran back toward the village shouting for the carpenter. A small bright shape, a forest fairy or a trick of the light, darted along the rail and was gone. Mothette found Mothman in the dark and touched his wing. They believe you, she said. They are going to try to shore it up tonight. Relief hit him and then thinned. The villagers were on the bridge now, crowding the failing wood with their tools and their weight. He could hear the groan of it from here, louder than yesterday. Mothette heard it too. Her hand tightened on his wing. The warning had landed. The danger had not.