Chapter 9
A Skeptic's Skepticism
The village elders scoff at Amy's ideas, dismissing her and her tiny dogs as a joke. Their disbelief only amplifies Amy's own self-doubt and fear.
The village square buzzed with the low hum of worried whispers. Every face turned towards the towering Elder Council, their beards practically scraping the cobblestones as they sat on their raised platform. I stood before them, my chihuahuas, Baby Blue Bears and Russo Baby Bears, a quivering, yipping duo at my feet. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped hummingbird.
“So,” Elder Thistlewick began, his voice like dry leaves skittering across stone, “you claim this… moon,” he spat the word like a bad taste, “is going to swallow all the light?”
I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yes, Elder. It’s a rare celestial event, and the ancient texts speak of it. It drains all luminescence, all warmth.”
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