Rimehowl

Mara's next word shattered out of her mouth. She had crossed the sound of its bark, frozen between the trees.

Summer stood outside the orchard anomaly like a yellow wall. Inside, our breath fell in square flakes. Rimehowl paced the rows with fog packed into its shoulders and blue ice crusting its paws. It hadn't chased us. The first bark made the barrier. The second howl frosted our footprints, slowing any step that repeated them.

We rang mismatched handbells until the tones overlapped. It couldn't choose a command from the broken measure. Behind us, green apples hung in clear ice, decades out of season.

It patrols a pattern and freezes what violates it. The first howl defines the boundary. Later sounds say what cannot cross or repeat, and what must stop. Varying pace and route gives it fewer habits to take. A repeated rescue attempt strengthens the frost just as a repeated attack or word does.

Clear bell tones and whistles attract it because they carry commands well. Irregular, overlapping sound confuses the choice. Heat alone makes steam that spreads the rule farther. Break the declared pattern before trying to thaw what it froze.