Chapter 56: Fat Chicken?
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The leaves barely rustled. The wind had stilled as if Emberwood forest itself held its breath. Zephyr remained motionless, every muscle on his body was alert. The tent flap stirred, a movement so faint it could have been the breath of the forest. Then came the softest thump, not the sound of something large, but the scampering of something small and curious.
Another noise. The squish of fabric under a padded foot. Fenna’s eyes widened. She leaned closer to Zephyr and whispered, "Something’s inside my tent."
Zephyr gave a slow nod and signaled with two fingers: wait.
A faint sniff-sniff echoed from within the bait tent. It was followed by a sharp scritch!—claws, likely, raking across the interior. Then the unmistakable sound of a blanket being dragged. A soft chirp or was it a warble? Nobody knows, it resonated next, strange and high-pitched like a bird trying to coo and cough at the same time.
Star tilted his head, watching intently. His tail flicked, but he didn’t make a sound.
The noises inside the tent grew more frantic—flap, flap, thud!—and then SPLOOSH! The water jug Fenna had placed intentionally tipped, spilling its contents. A blur darted past the tent’s edge, too fast to catch detail, but they all caught a glint of orange.
Fenna’s hand shot out to grab Zephyr’s sleeve. "There it is! Hurry up."
Zephyr nodded, adrenaline spiking. "Time to catch it."
They sprang from cover, Star launching beside them. They darted for the tent. But the clearing was already empty.
A few fluttering feathers of smoky orange and gold drifted where the food basket had been. Half eaten packets lay shredded in the dirt. Star raced in circles, nose to ground, trying to pick up a scent trail.