Shade moved ahead of the others with the silent, practiced ease of someone who’d spent most of his adult life trusting the forest only on its best days. Pip trailed close behind him, alert but quiet, matching his pace step for step.
The deer trail curved around a fallen cedar before widening into a shallow depression between two lichen-covered boulders. Shade stopped. Pip froze immediately beside him.
He scanned the ground: no fresh burrows, no claw marks, no crushed undergrowth suggesting a recent den. The earth was firm. The slope gentle. Enough cover to hide firelight from the main trail.
“This is it,” Shade murmured.
Pip leaned forward, whiskers twitching. “Good spot?”
“As good as we’ll get before dark.”
Pip waited for permission to move. Shade lifted his chin toward the direction they’d come.
“Go tell the others. Keep your ears open.”
Pip nodded once and darted back down the trail, vanishing into the undergrowth with soft footfalls.
Shade stayed where he was for a breath, listening. The forest wasn’t silent: it breathed, whispered, shifted with its usual restless life. Nothing nearby moved with a predator’s weight or intention.
He exhaled and set his pack down.
The firepit came together quickly: a scraped-clear circle of dirt, a ring of stones, a nest of dry needles and bark shavings. His paws worked without hesitation. He struck steel to stone. Sparks leapt. The kindling caught.
A thin curl of smoke rose through the fading light.
Shade sat back on his heels, watching the flame grow just enough to hold.
The others would be here soon.
For now, it was just him, the forest, and the steady crackle of a fire that felt too small for the night ahead.
Shade had only just coaxed the fire into a full burn when Pip slipped back into the hollow, followed shortly by the rest of the group. Packs hit the ground. Koda stretched his aching back. Bram adjusted the haft of his spear. The quiet exhaustion of a long day settled over the clearing like dust.
Shade didn’t comment on any of it. He was watching the trail.
Pip noticed, padding over to him. “They’re close,” she murmured.
He nodded once.
Koda was setting down a crate when the sound finally reached the others: light footfalls, hesitant, dragging a little from hunger.
Two small shapes appeared at the edge of the firelight.
Finley and Brooke.
Brooke stepped forward first, eyes locked on the pot Gertie carried. Finley hovered half a step behind her, trying to look braver than he felt. Their fur was matted, stomachs hollow, paws trembling from exhaustion.
Gertie’s breath caught. “Oh, sweetheart…” She dropped her kindling and ushered them toward the warmth. “You two look half-starved. Sit, sit.”
Thatcher stared at them, stunned. “How… how are they here? We didn’t see them once all day!”
Shade didn’t take his eyes off the kids. “I saw them.”
Thatcher whipped around. “You what?”
“They were half a mile back when we left the ridge,” Shade said, voice calm but heavy. “I figured they’d turn around before midday.”
Pip shifted uncomfortably. “They should’ve turned around.”
Brooke’s voice cracked. “We couldn’t. We didn’t want to go back alone.”
Finley nodded, swallowing hard. “And you… you didn’t look like you wanted us there.”
Shade’s jaw tightened a fraction. It wasn’t anger. It was guilt he’d never admit. “You should’ve said something.”
“We didn’t want to be a burden,” Finley whispered.
Gertie had already pulled two dented bowls from her pack, filling them with broth from her pot. The steam curled up into the cold air. “Eat,” she urged. “Slowly. You’ll make yourselves sick if you don’t.”
Finley and Brooke obeyed instantly, hands cupped around the bowls as if afraid someone was going to take them away.
Lina knelt beside them, checking their hands and foreheads for signs of fever. “They’re undernourished. And chilled. We need to keep them between warm bodies tonight.”
Thatcher folded his arms, scandalized. “We can’t take children with us. This isn’t a field trip. This is diplomacy… and danger.”
Bram snorted. “They’re already here. That makes them our problem.”
Shade didn’t say anything at first. He watched the children eat, their ribs showing under patchy fur.
“They stay tonight,” he said quietly. “We’ll handle the rest in the morning.”
Before Thatcher could argue further-
before anyone could-
CRACK.
A sharp, heavy branch-snap echoed from the treeline.
Not nearly far enough away.
Everyone froze.
Pip set her bowl down silently.
Bram reached for his spear.
Koda straightened.
Lina’s hands hovered protectively over the children.
Thatcher’s ears flattened.
Shade rose slowly to his feet.
“That,” he said, voice low, “wasn’t the wind.”
The fire crackled softly.
The forest stayed very, very still.
“Bram and Koda with me. Pip, keep the others safe” Shade directed
Thatcher stiffened, “That’s good advice, but I’m going with”
They followed Shade through the dark trees until the smell of blood reached them: fresh, metallic, unmistakable. A small hollow opened ahead, lit by the faint shimmer of moonlight slipping between branches.
Sableeye stood over a torn raccoon.
Her talon pinned it to the earth, her beak working at its flank with slow, deliberate efficiency. Feathers shifted in the dim like layered shadow. The only sound was the quiet, wet rip of meat pulling away from bone.
Shade raised a paw, halting them.
“Stay back,” he whispered.
He didn’t need to add don’t breathe too loud. No one was that stupid.
Well. Almost no one.
Thatcher leaned forward, eyes wide. “This is perfect,” he hissed too loudly, too confidently: “We won’t need Cragjaw. I’ll just speak to her-”
Shade hit him like a kicked trap.
He seized Thatcher by the collar and slammed him against the nearest tree, claws braced hard enough against his throat to draw a bead of blood.
“You open your mouth,” Shade snarled, voice low enough to be a growl, “and I’ll spill your guts right here. You will not speak to her. You will not negotiate. You will not breathe in her direction.”
Thatcher clawed at Shade’s wrist. “Shade…stop!”
Bram grabbed Shade around the shoulders. “Shade! Enough!”
Koda grabbed Shade’s other arm, dragging him away before he could drive a knife into Thatcher’s ribs. Shade twisted, furious, but not enough to break free. Not yet.
Thatcher stumbled back, pale and shaking. “You’re insane,” he spat. “She could save us a whole trip! She’s right there!”
The scuffle was quiet.
But not quiet enough.
Sableeye’s feeding stopped.
Her head lifted.
Her eyes turned toward them: black, depthless, ancient.
“Come out,” she said.
Her voice was wrong, too smooth, too deep, like wind forced through a hollow bone. “You may approach. I have fed.”
Shade swallowed. Bram lowered his spear slightly but stayed ready. Koda stepped forward, shielding the others by instinct. Thatcher tried to wipe bark dust off his cloak as if that would restore some dignity.
They stepped into the clearing.
Sableeye watched them without blinking, talons still resting on the half-eaten raccoon.
Thatcher cleared his throat. “Great… Sableeye, honored owl, we seek your help defending our town. A monster threatens us.”
Sableeye’s head tilted at an uncanny angle.
“Serathis.”
Thatcher flinched. “Serathis…? That’s its name?”
Sableeye tore another piece of flesh from the raccoon before answering. “Yes, he moves upriver. Old. Poisoned in mind. Hunger without reason.”
Thatcher stiffened. “Then you’ll help us.”
“No.”
The answer was immediate, absolute.
Sableeye snapped her beak clean of fur and flicked it away. “He is older than your walls. Older than your fear. Too dangerous even for me.”
Thatcher’s bravado faltered. “Then… then what do we do?”
Sableeye shifted her wings slightly. “If you wish to survive him, seek Cragjaw. Follow the ridge until the stone bent like a broken fang. Beyond it, the river’s twin will guide you.”
Bram nodded cautiously. “Cragjaw doesn’t give help freely.”
“No,” Sableeye agreed, amusement or warning flicking through her feathers. “He speaks only to those who bring gifts.”
Shade narrowed his eyes. “And what does he want?”
“Shimmerberries,” Sableeye said. “The dark ones. Black as tar, glowing faint under the skin. He eats them by the pawful.”
Koda frowned. “Where do we get them?”
“South of the bent stone,” she said. “In the fog hollows. They grow thick there.”
She tilted her head, one eye reflecting faint firelight.
“Mind the flytraps. They nest nearby. They close on anything warm.”
Thatcher swallowed. “And the berries… if someone eats them?”
Sableeye’s feathers stilled completely.
“Then the forest keeps them.”
She spread her wings: scarred, enormous, silent, and lifted into the dark without breaking a twig or stirring a leaf.
The clearing was suddenly too quiet.
The walk back to camp was painfully quiet.
Shade cut through the dark underbrush fast, jaw set, shoulders tight. Bram kept his spear leveled as if expecting the shadows to peel open again. Koda walked last, half-guarding, half-watching Thatcher in case the ambassador collapsed under the weight of his own shaken pride.
Thatcher looked like he’d aged a year in five minutes, but was doing everything in his power to pretend otherwise.
The campfire came into view… steady, warm, infuriatingly normal. Gertie stirred the pot with short, sharp movements. Lina sat beside Finley and Brooke, checking their fingers for circulation, their eyes for exhaustion.
Shade stepped into the light first.
Lina straightened, worry etched into her face. “What happened?”
Shade lowered himself beside the fire without answering, letting the heat soak into his paws. Pip sat next to him, eyes still wide.
Bram cleared his throat. “We found the noise.”
Koda let out a slow breath. “Sableeye.”
Gertie froze mid-stir. “Who?”
Pip’s ears flattened. “Shade… Sableeye?”
Finley blinked between adults, lost. “Who’s… Sableeye?”
Finley watched the adults with growing confusion. Brooke leaned closer to Lina.
Shade rubbed a paw over his face. “Forest killer. Old one. Nothing you should ever meet.”
Pip nodded. “Stays deep in the woods. If you didn’t grow up out here, you wouldn’t hear her name.”
Finley swallowed. “Is… is she worse than the snake?”
Shade didn’t answer that. “Different.”
Gertie set her ladle down hard enough that the pot clattered. “Did she talk to you?”
Shade nodded. “She gave us a name for the monster.”
Finley tensed immediately. “What name?”
The fire seemed to dim under the weight of the word. “Serathis.”
Both children reacted at once.
Brooke pressed herself into Lina’s side, tears welling instantly.
Finley’s breath hitched, jaw trembling. “That’s… that’s what killed River.”
Lina wrapped an arm around each of them, pulling them close. “You’re safe here,” she murmured, though her voice wasn’t steady.
Across the fire, Thatcher found enough misplaced courage to clear his throat. “Well, I… ah… handled the situation rather diplomatically-”
Shade didn’t even look at him. “She nearly snapped you in half before you finished your first sentence.”
Thatcher bristled. “I was stepping into my role-”
“You were stepping into her talons,” Koda muttered.
Shade snorted. “Same thing, really.”
Thatcher went pink in the ears but wisely didn’t answer.
Bram leaned forward. “All that aside, she confirmed Cragjaw is still our best shot. She said he’s west, past the bent stone.”
Shade nodded. “That was already the plan. Now we just know how to approach him.”
Koda added, “And what to bring.”
Gertie raised a brow. “Bring? What exactly?”
“Shimmerberries,” Shade said. “The dark ones. Near the fog hollows.”
Gertie blinked. “…The what berries where? And fog hollows? And what in Velora’s apron is a flytrap?”
Shade shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
Pip added quietly, “Big plant. Eats things.”
Gertie held up a paw. “Nope. He said I don’t want to know.”
Shade exhaled. “We’ll skirt the hollows. Stick to the ridge. We were heading that direction anyway.”
Bram poked the fire, sending sparks drifting upward. “First light. No arguing. The sooner we reach Cragjaw, the sooner this ends.”
No one disagreed.
They settled in close to the fire, closer than pride should allow, making a loose ring of bodies around the two exhausted children. Bram kept a paw on his spear even as he drifted toward sleep. Koda sat on first watch without being asked. Gertie hummed softly under her breath, a shake in her voice she tried to hide.
Thatcher lay stiffly on his back, staring up at the branches above as though expecting an owl’s shadow to drop on him again.
Shade stayed awake longer than the others, watching the dark between the trees.
Sableeye had fed.
But the night still felt sharp around the edges.
A Pact With Fangs is available on Amazon in print / ebook form, as well as on youtube as an audio book.