CHAPTER 18
QUEST FOR THE BEARS
The next day, the pigs trotted off to spread mischief in the woodland, their ricky-ticky steps scuffing the damp path into a mess of overturned leaves and broken twigs. Goldwynn stayed crouched behind the wonky rain barrel until the sound of their pig-trouble thinned, then thinned again, then dissolved into the larger quiet of the trees. She didn’t move right away. The woods had a way of listening after the pigs left, as if it wasn’t sure they were truly gone. The air held its breath with her.
When she finally stood, the silence felt heavier than noise. No birds called. The light came down in broken pieces, the sun playing hide-and-seek through beech and alder, dappling the forest floor with spools of pale gold. The ground under her boots was soft and cold, a black earth that smelled of truffles gone to rot and old rain. It stuck to her soles and made no sound when she walked, which was both a blessing and a threat.
She thought to follow the truffled earth, but the trail cheated. Ten paces in, it forked. To the left, the way was too easy: broken branches snapped at shoulder height, a rind of truffle tossed like bait on a bed of moss, the dirt scuffed into arrows. Her stomach tightened. The pigs liked games. She eased toward it and the world answered with a vicious snap as a snare of wire and bent sapling sprang shut on empty air, loud enough to crack the quiet in half. Goldwynn tasted blood where she’d bitten her tongue. Decoy. She backed away with her pulse in her throat and took the other path, the one that smelled wrong.
This way reeked of crushed wild garlic sharp and acrid. Under it, faint but undeniable, was the musty, wet-dog smell of bear. Here and there the earth gave up small betrayals: a frayed strip of blue cloth, caught on a bramble.
The rock face appeared without warning, a gray shoulder of the hill draped in ivy so thick it looked woven. It wasn’t wild growth. On closer sight, the vines were crosshatched, bear-hair twisted through them like coarse thread, and here and there the dull gleam of thorns had been worked into the pattern. A door, but one built to keep things out. She put her ear to the green curtain. For a long moment there was only the damp and the smell of fear-sweat and caved earth. Then, a breath, raw from disuse muttered “Shhh.”
“Papa, is that you?” Goldwynn whispered, and the name felt too small for the quiet. “It’s me. Goldwynn, Goldilocks’ great granddaughter. I'm here to help you with the Locke Jewel. Can we talk? I had been to your cottage. The pigs went down to the lower woods. I’m here with Chipper, Hopper and Dapper.”
The ivy moved apart.
Their eyes adjusted to shapes. Papa Koala sat with his knees drawn up, his fur patchy and ratty where he had worried it out in clumps. His eyes slid over her without focusing, as if she were another trick of the light. Coco Koala held herself with one arm, the other hand knotted in what remained of her apron. It was torn from hem to waist, the edge dark with dried blood.
Between them, tucked against the stone, was a nest made of moss and soft leaves and a faded blue blanket. It was small. It was empty. The sight of it landed in Goldwynn’s chest like a stone dropped into a well.
Papa Koala looked from the nest to her face, and something broken tried to mend itself in his expression and failed. Coco couldn't sniffle anymore. Her voice cracked as it spilled the words---
Tasha....they took her!
To Be Continued...
Image Courtesy:Pinterest
This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.
https://www.theblogchatter.com/blogrolls/quest-for-the-bears-day-18-letter-q
Ooo that was heart-breaking. I felt a bit lost cz I realize this is a part of a series but it is worth checking out! The description, the dialogues and the vibe is truly great!
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