Sable Fenwright's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Sable Fenwright bolted the door of her brick workshop and stepped out into the gray morning. The carved sign above the entrance still read Welcome, but the woods past her yard no longer were. Wolf tracks cut across the path. She needed a stronger lantern, one whose light could hold the alpha back, and the master carver past the ridge was the only person who could teach her how to make it. She walked the trail to the chained gate at the forest's edge. Iron links and antler tines crossed the wood. This was the marker she had set herself, the line where her lantern light could no longer keep anyone safe. Beyond it, paw prints pressed deep into the mud. They were closer than yesterday. Much closer. Sable lifted her old lantern from its hook. Moss curled along the rotting frame. The flame inside flickered weak and orange against the panels. It had carried her through many nights, but it would not carry her through this one. She could feel that truth in her hands. A branch snapped behind her. Sable turned, knife ready. It was only an elk, its fern-soft snout lowered, antlers crowned with small pink blooms. It stared at her, then bolted east. Something had spooked it. Something moving through the trees. She could not cross the ridge alone. Not now. Sable ran back down the path to the small clay cottage with cedar shutters, the one that had stood empty until last week. She pounded on the door. Her new neighbor opened it, startled. "I need your help," she said. "Today. Before dark. There is a carver past the ridge, and I cannot reach him alone." The neighbor looked past her at the tree line, at the lantern guttering in her hand, and nodded once. Sable felt the weight of the choice settle. She had asked. She had been answered. The road past the ridge was open to her now, and the wolves were already moving.