Pipkin Thornwhisker's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Dawn crept over the camp in thin gray light. The hedgehog slept curled near the embers, the bone-handled dagger still tight in his paw. Pipkin had not slept at all. He watched the trees, waiting for pale eyes to return. Instead, he heard wheels. A grand carriage rolled to a stop at the edge of his small wooden shelter. Two armored stag beetles snorted and pawed the dirt, their iridescent shells catching the first light. A courier in stiff livery stepped down, bowed low, and held out a folded letter sealed in deep red wax. Pipkin's paws went cold before he even touched it. He knew that seal. He had seen it pressed into a hundred scrolls he was never allowed to read. The hedgehog stirred, blinked, and went very still beside him. His small face turned toward the carriage, toward the crown stamped above the doors, and the color drained from his cheeks. "You," the hedgehog whispered. "They sent it for you." Pipkin broke the wax. The letter was short. His mother's hand. His father's signature. A summons home, and a warning beneath it: surrender the spiked thief, or the woods would be searched tree by tree. Pipkin folded the letter slowly. The hedgehog was shaking now, eyes wide, ready to bolt. Pipkin met his gaze and shook his head once. "They don't get you," he said. The courier waited for an answer. Pipkin gave him one. He tossed the letter into the embers and watched the royal seal blacken and curl.