Strawberry Shroomy's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

Shroomy crouched behind the hedge with the silver scythe across her knees. The blade caught the low moon and threw cold light onto the stakes below. Her hound was locked in the cellar. The pit was ready. She waited, breath slow, eyes fixed on the gap where the prints came through. It came without sound. A long shape poured out of the dark, all black fur and yellow eyes, slipping between the brambles like spilled ink. The shadow lynx paused at the gap, sniffed once, and stepped forward. The earth gave way beneath it. Shroomy was already moving. She dropped into the pit and swung the silver blade down hard across its throat. The lynx shuddered and went still on the stakes. Shroomy climbed out, hands shaking, and wiped the blade on the grass. Then she heard them. Low calls answered from deep in the woods. One. Then two. Then a third, closer. She turned toward the trees and saw a small figure stepping out of the brush, basket on her arm, hat pulled low. Martha Ironfoot looked at the pit, then at Shroomy. "One down," she said. "Three coming. You'll want help by sunrise." She set the basket on the ground and pulled back the cloth. Inside lay coiled wire, oiled rope, and a row of iron spikes. Shroomy nodded once. The lynx was dead. The night was not over.