Strawberry Shroomy's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Strawberry Shroomy knelt at the edge of her field and pulled back a curtain of pale green shoots. Beneath them, her young strawberry plants lay flattened, leaves yellowing where the garlic had crowded them out. She had wanted only one thing: a quiet field, fruit on the vine, peace between the rows. Instead, her own fix was strangling the harvest. She walked the line and counted the losses. Whole patches now bristled with garlic stalks where berries used to bloom. The sticky traps along the border held a few dark shapes, but the real damage was here, choking up from the soil she'd tended for years. At the far fence, Barley Fieldwing stood watch on a low wooden rail, talons curled, eyes steady on the grass. He turned his head when she approached. "Bugs are thinning," he said. "By dusk, they're gone." He paused. "Your plants, though. Those won't wait." Shroomy nodded once. She drew her knife and began cutting garlic at the root, fast and clean. The pests would die tonight. But half her field was already lost — and whatever was tunneling beneath still moved toward the heart.