Morning came gently, with the Harvest Moon fading into a pale golden sky. The scent of toasted oats and warm biscuits drifted through Abigail’s apartment as all but the groundhogs gathered around her small kitchen table. Quinn rubbed tired eyes while Wiley, who had already eaten two biscuits, reached for a third. Scout sat quietly, tail tucked neatly around his paws, watching the steam rise from his mug of chamomile.

The groundhogs, finding no room at the table, clustered in a sunny corner of the kitchen, sharing a bowl of greens and sliced apples. General Beauregard ate with slow, disciplined bites while Phil, Chuck, and Pierre whispered about which tunnels they should use to reveal the future of Hell’s Bells.

Abigail set down a plate of berries and began, once again, reviewing the plan, clearly and calmly, the way only Abigail could.

ABIGAIL: “All right, everyone. Today’s the day. Before we leave, I want to be sure we each know our role. First, I’m giving this ancient map, the one Brenston marked with warnings and crossing points, to Quinn for safekeeping. And Wiley, if anyone can persuade the beavers, it will be you. Use that clever tongue of yours; they MUST understand how urgent this is. Now, for you groundhogs. General Beauregard, take your team east and inform every burrow you can reach.”

Beauregard saluted sharply, and Phil, Chuck, and Pierre Shadeaux nodded in unison, already discussing which tunnels to take first.

Abigail then turned to Scout, whose tail swayed with quiet readiness.

ABIGAIL: “And Scout … I trust you know what must be done.”

Scout nodded, glancing toward the window where the last pale edge of the Harvest Moon slipped behind the hills.

SCOUT: “Of course,I know. The beavers will face resistance once they start damming the crossings. Someone will question their work… maybe even try to stop them. They’ll need protection along the riverbanks.”

QUINN: “Yes, the beavers must be protected. Scout, you should explain the situation to anyone who hasn’t heard the old stories—or who may have forgotten what happened so many years ago.”

SCOUT: Right, let’s not forget the story Abigail shared yesterday—the one about Sebastian’s first Skunk Troop and how they stood their ground when frackers came to tear apart the land behind her home. Beavers are builders, the healers of our waterways. They cannot defend themselves the way skunks can. And so, while the beavers work, it falls to the skunks to protect them.”

With a smile, Quinn knowingly tapped the fedora.

QUINN: “The old map with the VIP river crossings is safely tucked right under here. Obviously, we already know where the beavers need to build their dams. And we already know the skunks will be needed there, too.”

SCOUT: “Exactly, Quinn! Listen up. I’ll start out at the hollow down by Raccoon Creek, since that’s the first VIP crossing at risk. Spring will be here before you know it, and we need time to prepare for the flooding that always hits that location.”

QUINN: “Wiley will persuade the beavers to begin their work—that’s his gift. But once they understand how crucial their dams are in stopping the Predator Pipeline from carrying methane to Hell’s Bells, they’ll need reassurance that protection is already being prepared.”

SCOUT: “That’s where I come in. It’s my job to organize the skunk troops, just as my father, Sebastian, did in his day. The skunks will stand guard along the banks while the beavers build their dams. We protected the valley once before, and we’ll do it again.”

WILEY: “A skunk line guarding every dam. That’ll make folks think twice.”

Scout gave a determined nod.

SCOUT: “I’ll gather whoever I can—the veterans, the youngsters, anyone willing to stand their ground. When the beavers begin their work, we’ll be ready to keep them safe.”

He stepped back from the table, tail lifting with resolve.

ABIGAIL: “As for me, I’ll speak with my neighbors. They’ll see changes in the river once the beavers begin. We can’t risk panic; we’ll need their understanding and cooperation.”

The table fell silent at Abigail’s words. Chairs scraped back sharply. Biscuits were swallowed without a breath. Even the groundhogs froze mid-chew, eyes wide. A charged stillness settled over the room; everyone felt it, that sudden tightening of resolve.

When Abigail stood, the others followed without hesitation. This was no longer planning. No longer talk. It was time.

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