Chapter 3

 

“Dawn, how are you feeling?” Mother asked as she flung open the bedroom door, causing Maeve to almost slam the drawer onto her hand. Sheepishly, Maeve stepped away from Dawn’s desk and rearranged her expression into a believable state of grief.

            “Oh, Mother, I am so sad,” Maeve sobbed into her palms, and felt Mother’s arms close around her shoulders, patting her back soothingly.

            “It’s going to be okay, Dawn. Father and the police are out there now searching for Maeve’s…well, you know.” Mother swallowed.

Maeve sighed with relief. “So you do care about me!” she exclaimed. Mother looked bemused. “What are you talking about? Of course I care.”

            Maeve bit her lip. How could she have let that slip? “No, I mean…it’s just –”

“You must be in shock, that’s all,” Mother confirmed, placing a cool hand to Maeve’s forehead. “And you’re burning up. Perhaps you’ve caught a cold from being out in the rain. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

            Maeve scowled. “But I don’t wanna go to bed!” she whined, stamping her foot.

Mother gazed at her in disbelief, and for a second Maeve thought she was done for, until Mother laughed. “Wow, Dawn, you almost sounded like Maeve!”

            Maeve joined in the laughter. “Yeah, funny how we can be so alike sometimes!”

            Mother nodded, smiling as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind Maeve’s ear. “But I know from the bottom of my heart that you are my special Dawn.”

            And for some reason, those words made Maeve want to throw up.

🌓

            The stench of fresh soil filled her nostrils as Dawn stirred from a broken sleep that stiffened her limbs and left her feeling empty. Where was she this time? Dawn vaguely recalled following a fox through the woods and falling relentlessly down a dark hole in a tree, but that was all.

            Her eyes adjusted to her dull surroundings, and she saw a flash of red in the shadows…or had she just imagined it? A set of amber eyes glowed like fireflies as they approached her, and the fox dropped a sack of pears before her. Tentatively, Dawn took one, and under the fox’s watchful gaze she sunk her teeth into its speckled emerald flesh, the sweet juice bursting in her mouth. Dawn devoured it hungrily, feeling like she hadn’t eaten in years.

            Just as she was about to take another pear, the fox slinked off into the gloom, letting out a quiet bark that probably meant for her to come. Dawn crawled after the fox, which she decided to call Amber (for obvious reasons) into a tunnel that inclined upwards to the surface.

Dawn had never been so happy to see the early sun, its warm butter-