Strawberry Shroomy's Arc

Chapter 4 of 9

Shroomy set the last basket inside the cellar and turned back to the field. The ground at the far edge bulged. Soil cracked open in a slow heave, and a yellow glow seeped through the dirt. The sleeping thing was waking. She pulled the warden's gifts from her belt. The carved whistle hung warm against her palm. The painted stick crackled at its tip, sparks already spitting red into the gray dawn. She blew the whistle hard. A low howl answered from the tree line, and the bramble-coated hound padded into view, thorns bristling, yellow eyes locked on the bulging soil. The beetle broke through. Its luminous shell rose huge from the trench, antennae sweeping the air, jaws clicking toward the heart of the field. Shroomy jammed the sparking stick into the dirt between the beetle and the oldest roots. Sparks burst in its eyes. The hound lunged, snapping at its glowing belly, driving it sideways. The beetle hissed, twisted, and crashed back into its own tunnel, dragging dirt down behind it. Shroomy stood panting in the quiet. The hound circled the broken ground, growling low. The root cluster was safe — for now. But the tunnel still gaped open at her feet, and somewhere below, the beetle was burrowing deeper, choosing a new path she could not see.