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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.
