Practice Makes Perfect

Edmund gripped his wooden practice sword and swung it through the morning air. The blade whistled as it cut past the oak tree beside Thistledown's stone bridge.

"Left foot forward, Edmund," he muttered to himself, copying what his sword instructor had taught him yesterday.

The park stretched quiet around him. Dewdrops clung to the grass, and the stream gurgled softly beneath the wooden bridge. Edmund loved practicing here before anyone else arrived. No other children to watch him fumble through the moves.

He lunged forward, thrusting the wooden blade toward an imaginary opponent. His boots slipped on the damp stones near the water's edge.

"Whoa!" Edmund windmilled his arms, trying to keep his balance.

A strange rumbling sound came from beneath the bridge. Edmund froze, listening. The rumbling grew louder, like dozens of footsteps marching underground.

Suddenly, the stone path cracked open. Thick, gnarled hands shot up through the gap and grabbed Edmund's ankles.

"Got him!" a gravelly voice shouted from below. "The chosen one is ours!"

Edmund's wooden sword clattered to the ground as he disappeared through the opening with a surprised yelp.

The Underground Welcome

Edmund tumbled through darkness and landed with a thud on soft earth. His head spun as he sat up, blinking at the dim light filtering from somewhere above.

"Welcome, chosen one!" squeaked a high voice.

Edmund squinted and saw a small woman with short gray hair standing before him. She wore a brown leather apron covered in tiny stitching tools. Behind her, dozens of creatures no taller than his waist scurried about, all with the same gnarled hands that had grabbed him.

"I'm not chosen anything," Edmund said, scrambling to his feet. "I was just practicing sword fighting."

The woman's eyes went wide. "Practicing with a blade? Just as the prophecy foretold!" She turned to the others. "He speaks of weapons training!"

"But I'm only nine," Edmund protested. "I'm not special at all."

"Modest, too!" gasped a creature with enormous ears. "Exactly what we expected!"

The woman stepped closer, examining Edmund like he was a new pair of boots she was thinking about making. "The surface dweller will lead us to victory against the Fox Clan. Their raids on our mushroom gardens must end."

Edmund's heart sank. These underground people really believed he was some kind of hero.