Sable's Arc

Chapter 13 of 18

The hatchling slept in the willow, but its mother did not know where. That night the dragon circled the empty cave, screaming for a child that was gone. The sound rolled down the cliffs and rattled shutters in Birchrot. Sable understood the danger at once. A mother who could not find her young might burn the whole valley to ash searching. She had to lead the beast to the treehouse. But the dragon was huge, and the sky was open. If any villager saw it fly to the willow, the hunters would follow the trail straight to the hatchling. Sable climbed the far slope at dusk and stood beneath the willow, thinking. She needed the dragon to come to the treehouse without knowing why, without a soul watching. Fish would not draw it. Fire would only scatter it. She had no plan that did not end with the dragon seen. Music drifted up from below the slope. Sable followed it to a small pink hall she had never noticed, its doors open to the warm night. Inside, a chipmunk in black tie sat at a piano. A white rose drooped in his lapel. He played, then stopped, his small paws shaking. "Wrong," he said. "Again wrong. My teacher would have heard it." He noticed her. "You should not be here. No one comes." "The hatchling calmed to a bow," Sable said. "To a cat who sings. It answers sound." She stepped closer. "Could the mother answer it too?" The chipmunk stared at the keys. "I play for no one. I have never played for anyone." His voice caught. "I am not ready." "A dragon is going to burn my village tonight," Sable said. "You are the only one ready." He was quiet a long moment. Then he lifted a guitar from beside the piano and slung it over his shoulder. "Loud enough to carry," he said. "Not loud enough to wake the road." They climbed to the willow. Marvin Whiskers sat by the pool, his red bow bright in the dark. The chipmunk found a low, slow tune. Marvin began to hum along, and the hatchling woke and cried back, soft and high. The mother heard. Sable saw her wings tilt against the stars. But the dragon did not roar toward them. She glided down quiet, drawn by her child's answer, and the branches swallowed her whole. Under the green curtain, no one on the road could see a thing. The mother pressed her huge head to the treehouse and went still. The hatchling climbed into the fold of her neck. The screaming stopped. The valley slept. Sable breathed out. She had done it. The dragon had a new den, hidden and safe. But now the great beast sat curled in Rosemary's willow, and by morning the whole village would notice their roost on the cliffs stood empty, mother and child both gone from every place a fisher knew.