Periwinkle's Arc

Chapter 12 of 17

The horse could carry only one lost soul at a time. Periwinkle learned this the hard way at dusk. The bell rang, and she ran to the far oven. A cold man sat by the fire, wrapped in a warm loaf's steam. But the horse pawed the ground and would not settle. It had left someone behind. Somewhere in the trees, a second wanderer waited in the dark, hungry and unfound. Periwinkle stood in the doorway, torn. The horse flew one path. It could not be in two places at once. If it went back, this man could wait alone. If it stayed, the other might wander off before dawn. She had wings, but only one pair. The two bears lay beneath the cypress, watching her with soft, patient eyes. The big bear lifted its head. The little bear held the brass bell in its paws, ready to ring. Periwinkle looked at them and saw what she had missed. The bears knew the forest. They had guided travelers to the cypress since summer. They did not need the horse to find a path. "You know these woods better than the horse," she said. She knelt by the big bear and pointed toward the dark trees. "There is someone lost out there tonight. The horse cannot fetch you both. Go. Find the second one. Bring them to the far oven." The big bear rose and shook out its thick brown coat. It grunted, low and sure. The little bear stood too, still gripping the bell. Periwinkle shook her head at the cub. "You stay and ring for the horse. Your mother goes on foot." The little bear settled back down. The big bear lumbered into the trees and vanished. Periwinkle sent the horse out again for a fresh path. Then she filled the far oven's rack and waited by the open door. The cold man ate. The fire held. An hour passed. She heard the horse land in the clearing, and a new traveler stepped down, a girl with mud on her boots. Then brush cracked at the tree line. The big bear came out of the dark, slow and steady. Behind it walked a stooped old woman, one hand resting on the bear's broad back. The bear had found her where the horse could not reach. Periwinkle led the woman inside and put warm bread in her hands. Three lost souls sat by the fire now, all fed, all warm. The horse and the bear had each brought one in. Periwinkle leaned against the doorframe and breathed. She no longer had one pair of wings. She had the horse for the far paths and the big bear for the near ones. Two searchers, working the woods at once. But two searchers still meant two, and the forest held far more lost than that.