Onyx Ridge's Arc

Chapter 8 of 11

Onyx cut through the last knuckle as the light thinned. He had the second hand almost done. Only the smallest joint of the smallest finger was left, and a strip of tendon he had marked in charcoal. His bandaged hand throbbed under the cloth Wren had wound that morning. He did not look up from the stone. The foxling stood in the grass. It had not moved for an hour. Now its ears turned toward the path. It rose on all four legs and stared down the low road. Its four tails hung still. Onyx heard it a moment later. Not footsteps. A slow, heavy tread, spaced too wide for a man. Something breathing in long even pulls. The foxling backed toward the studio door and did not run. He had nothing to slow it with. No door strong enough. No place to hide a statue as tall as a man. The half-carved blocks by his entry would not fool a child. He looked at the road, then at the smallest finger. He picked up the chisel. He set the edge against the charcoal mark and cut. Careful. Shallow. One tap. Two. The knuckle came clean. He moved to the tendon. The hound came around the bend. Black-coated, tall at the shoulder as a pony, pale marks glowing along its ribs like cooling iron. It walked without hurry. It knew where it was going. Its eyes fixed on the statue behind him and stayed there. Onyx cut the tendon. His hand shook. He steadied it against the stone and cut again. The hound stopped at the edge of the yard. It lowered its head and drew breath. The grass at its feet dried and curled. "One more," Onyx said, to nobody. He set the chisel on the last mark. Hooves came fast on the path behind him. Juno crossed the yard in three long strides and put herself between him and the hound. She was bigger than he remembered. Her antlers scraped a low branch. She did not draw a weapon. She spread her hands the way the statue spread its hands. "Not yet," she said. Not to Onyx. To the hound. The hound growled. The sound went through the ground. The foxling flattened. "Cut," Juno said over her shoulder. Onyx cut. The chip fell. The finger was done. He stepped back. The statue stood whole from hoof to antler, every joint, every crooked bone. He had finished the body. The hound lunged. Juno caught it by the ruff with both hands and the yard shook. She held. Her hooves dug trenches in the dirt.