Tinkleaf Gearsprout's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The line to the beast was dead, but the two winged newcomers still stood on his loam. They had come through the deep threads and shown Tinkleaf the junction he could not find alone. Without them, the beast would still be drinking his light. Now Whisper Thistledown crossed their arms and looked up through the roots to the cold ground above. Pippin Thistlewhisk hovered near the tunnel mouth, restless, her wings a blur. "We should go back up," Pippin said. "Nothing down here to sleep in. No roof, no bed." She wrinkled her nose at the bare soil. Tinkleaf felt his chest tighten. These two carried knowledge of the threads he had spent months chasing. If they left, that knowledge left with them. "Wait," he said. "Give me the night. I can build you a home." Whisper raised an eyebrow. "Build one? Out of what?" "Out of this." Tinkleaf pressed his copper finger to the loam. He pushed a slow thought down into the fungal web, the same way he woke his sprout. He called for growth, and he shaped it. "I need a wide cap. Thick roots. A door." The soil answered. A pale stalk rose and swelled. A broad mushroom cap spread over it like a roof. Roots curled down and gripped the ground, curling into a base that would not shift. The little mushroom sprite clapped its stubby hands and danced around the growing walls. Pippin dropped closer, silent now. Whisper walked to the round door and pressed a bare foot to the threshold. Their wings stilled, the way they stilled when they read a thread. "It's alive," Whisper said. "The walls carry your light. I can hear the whole grove through them." "That's the point," Tinkleaf said. "You live inside the web. You'll feel every thread while you sleep." "You look pleased with yourself," said the sword from his belt. Its glow marks pulsed blue. "Try not to grow them a second head by morning." Whisper stepped inside. Pippin followed. A warm yellow glow lit the small windows. Pippin leaned out one of them, and for the first time she was not looking at the tunnel. "Fine," she said. "We'll stay. Teach us your gears, and we'll teach you the deep threads." Tinkleaf let out a long breath. He had traded a roof for the knowledge his grove needed. The newcomers would stay. Then the floor trembled. From deep in the tunnel came a slow, grinding scrape. Whisper's head snapped toward the sound. "The beast," they said. "It's still digging. And it's coming up." Tinkleaf looked at the fresh roots of the cottage, gripping the very soil the creature was clawing toward. He had built a home right in its path.