The Double-Snatcher

A Note from the Fiction Editor: This piece is posted in collaboration with Further Light: Science Fiction and Fantasy in the Latter-day Saint Tradition. Further Light is a new publication that “seeks to explore the restored gospel through the medium of the human imagination.” We hope you enjoy this selection from their first issue, and visit furtherlightmag.com to read more of their offerings.

The daylight clawing down through the branches was slowly dying. In its place, a growing breeze scraped through the trees, too cold for this time of year.

Aasim Beaver sat on his haunches, his wide tail tapping the ground. This new wind didn’t carry the smell of cedars or date palms. It smelled of danger and darkness.

It smelled of death.

His tail tapped faster. They should all be in their homes, preparing for whatever was coming. Not gathered like fools discussing the health of local mushroom colonies or squabbling over territories. But Nahar loved these little gatherings, and now that she was pregnant, he wouldn’t let her come alone. He would protect his family at all costs.

He could not fail again.

Nahar rested her tail gently, but firmly, atop his to still it and urged his gaze back to the gnarled stump in the center of the crowd of animals. A wizened brown hare with a half-severed ear ended his rant with a thump of his hind leg, then hopped off the stump.

A mongoose—this season’s community chair-mammal, according to Nahar—scurried atop the stump in his place.

“Thank you,” she squeaked, “for that important reminder that scent markers make good neighbors. Remember to mark what’s yours and respect what’s not.” A tendril of icy air rushed past her, and she shivered. “If there’s no further business—”

“What of my parents?” a deep voice asked from beyond the circle of gathered creatures. Two sharp, ridged horns pierced the lengthening shadows as an adolescent gazelle stepped forward.

“That’s the boy I told you about,” Nahar whispered to Aasim. “He called on the council last week for help finding his parents. They disappeared one night and haven’t returned. He’s busy caring for his younger sisters, poor dear. Otherwise he’d go looking himself.”

The mongoose wouldn’t meet the gazelle’s eyes. “Yes, um . . . you see . . .”

“Won’t be no search,” the wizened hare grumbled. All ears flicked toward him. The mongoose shot him a disapproving ...