The sun was high when we finally stopped for a breath, the third one since we’d started to follow the butterfly. The ground beneath my paws felt firmer here – the rocky terrain had given way to softer soil dotted with patches of grass. The air smelled different, fresher, but tinged with something I couldn’t place. The butterfly had paused again, its wings gently rising and falling as it rested on a crooked branch.
I turned to glance at the others. Prowling Fox sat a short distance away, speaking to Tawny Canary. His ears were twitching with frustration as he explained something I couldn’t place. Tawny Canary disagreed, her face twisting in a frown.
Soaring Hawk, however, stood apart. His gaze was fixed on the horizon. His tail flicked sharply behind him, his posture rigid. I sighed. He’s getting ready for us to continue.
At first, it was subtle – a faint dimming that made me glance skyward. The light grew weaker, the bright warmth of the sun fading into an eerie, muted glow. The shadows stretched longer, deeper – as though the very world was holding its breath. The sun, once vibrant and unyielding, was being consumed. A black curve crept across its surface, swallowing the light piece by piece. I felt frozen.
“What's happening?!” Tawny Canary’s voice trembled, leaning into Prowling Fox as if he would protect her.
“It’s the end,” one of the younger cats whispered, their voice trembling with fear as the shadows deepened unnaturally.
Soaring Hawk’s ears flicked nervously, his eyes darting up at the sky where the sun was being slowly consumed by a dark, creeping shadow. His breath hitched, but he straightened his posture, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“No,” he said, his tone firmer than his uncertain gaze. “It’s… it’s not the end. It can’t be.” His claws kneaded the ground as if anchoring himself. “They’re just… fighting. But it’ll pass. It has to pass.”
I glanced at Whispering Wing. She stood still, her milky eyes wide and her head tilted towards the sky. She didn’t speak, but she was calm. She wasn’t afraid. The butterfly, too, remained unbothered, its delicate wings fluttering faintly in the strange half-light.
The eclipse began to wane as quickly as it had come. The black curve slid away from the sun, allowing the light to return. The warmth followed, tentative but welcome, and the world seemed to exhale a collective breath.
No one spoke as the shadows shrank back to their normal size, but the unease lingered like a bitter taste. We settled for the night under a cluster of trees, the younger cats chatting softly while the older ones kept to themselves.
—
When dawn broke, the air was crisp and still. The sky was a gorgeous, soft palette of gold and pink. The sunlight dappled the ground through the trees. I stretched, my limbs stiff from the night’s rest, and I glanced around the group.
Most were still stirring, shaking off sleep, and muttering quietly about the day ahead.
One of us was missing.
“Where’s Whispering Wing?” I asked.
Heads turned, and the murmurs stilled. Tawny Canary was the first to rise. Her ears swiveled as she scanned the area.
“She was just here.” She said, her voice faltering as she whispered, “The butterfly is gone, too.”
Soaring Hawk was the next to step forward, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. “She wouldn’t wander far.”
But something in his tone made my fur bristle.
We spread out, our movements quick and uneasy as we searched the nearby brush and shadows. My heart pounded as I called her name. The silence that answered only deepened my dread.
It was Prowling Fox who found her.
“Here,” he called, his voice tight.
We rushed to him, and the scene that lay in front of me made my blood turn cold.
Whispering Wing lay crumpled beneath a low bush several tail lengths from camp. Her milky eyes were wide and lifeless, staring vacantly through the gaps in the canopy above. Her limbs were contorted, one hind leg bent beneath her at an unnatural angle, and her head lolled to the side as if it had been wrenched violently. Dark, matted blood clung to her sleek black fur, staining it in thick, uneven streaks. The gash across her throat was jagged and deep, the edges torn as though it had been inflicted with feral brutality. As though she was prey. Flies had already begun to gather, buzzing incessantly around the crimson pools that had seeped into the dirt beneath her.
The butterfly lay crushed beneath her, its delicate wings mangled. The morning light cast long shadows over the scene, as though the very land mourned the loss.
A sharp, metallic scent hit me like a wave. My stomach twisted violently, and a hot, sour bile surged up my throat before I could stop it. I stumbled back a few steps, gasping for fresh air, before doubling over and retching into the dry leaves. My entire body trembled, and my paw felt like they would give away beneath me.
Tawny Canary released a wail. The sound was so raw and piercing it didn’t seem like it could come from a cat. It was a guttural, broken cry that tore through the air, a sound of unfiltered agony. Her voice cracked, rising into a shriek that made my fur bristle. It wasn’t just grief - it was horror, deep and primal, a sound that clawed its way from the depths of her soul. It echoed through the trees, hanging in the air long after her voice faltered into ragged sobs. Prowling Fox rushed to comfort her, cooing softly in her ear and muscling her away from Whispering Wing. She slipped away from him, collapsing into Whispering Wing’s body.
The sound seemed to ignite something in the others. Gasps and cries rose from the group, a ripple of grief and horror that grew louder with each passing moment. Cats clung to one another; their eyes wide with disbelief.
“No! No, no, no!” she sobbed. Her tears fell freely, soaking into the earth at her paws.
Soaring Hawk stepped forward, his expression unreadable. He studied Whispering Wing’s body for a long moment before speaking. “We don’t know what happened. But we can’t linger. This place isn’t safe.”
Roaring Tide’s breath came in ragged gasps as he shoved his way through the gathered cats, his eyes wide with frantic disbelief. When he saw her, he froze for a moment. Then, his entire body trembled with fury.
“No... no, this can’t be real!” His voice was raw, cracking as he fell beside her, his large paws shaking as he gingerly touched her bloodstained fur. “Who did this? Who could do this to her?”
Roaring Tide’s eyes darted around the group, his gaze frantic and wild, seeking someone to blame. The grief and rage in his chest boiled over, and he zeroed in on Soaring Hawk. A low snarl twisted his face, his voice shaking with accusation.
“It was you!” Roaring Tide shouted; his words full of venom. “You hated her from the start! You mocked her for following the butterfly! You wanted her gone!”
Soaring Hawk’s ears flattened at the accusation, his tail flicking sharply behind him. But his voice was eerily calm, despite the fury directed at him. “I didn’t do this,” he said, his tone unyielding.
But Roaring Tide wouldn’t listen. His muscles tensed, and a deep snarl curled his lips as he stepped forward, claws unsheathed and eyes blazing with rage. “Liar!” Roaring Tide spat, his voice trembling with fury. “You wanted control. You’ve always been against her. Now she’s dead. You killed her!”
With a furious roar, Roaring Tide lunged forward, aiming for Soaring Hawk’s throat. His claws raked through the air, fueled by blind rage. But Soaring Hawk was faster. He twisted his body with fluid grace, ducking under Roaring Tide’s attack and leaving the other tom stumbling, thrown off balance by his own momentum. Roaring Tide crashed to the ground with a growl, his claws scraping the earth.
The two cats faced each other, tension crackling between them. Roaring Tide’s chest heaved with every breath, his fur bristling with raw fury. Soaring Hawk remained unshaken, his eyes cold and narrowed.
“Roaring Tide, you have to stop,” Prowling Fox said, stepping forward. His voice was steady, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he blocked Roaring Tide’s path. “We don’t know what happened. Soaring Hawk didn’t kill her.”
But Roaring Tide was beyond reason. His grief and anger consumed him, and he shoved Prowling Fox aside, his gaze never leaving Soaring Hawk.
“You’re a coward, Soaring Hawk,” Roaring Tide growled. “You won’t take responsibility for what you’ve done.”
Without warning, Roaring Tide let out another savage roar, his claws swiping at the air as he lunged again. But this time, Soaring Hawk didn’t move. He stood his ground, his eyes unyielding.
“I’m not your enemy,” Soaring Hawk said quietly, but his voice held an edge that made it clear he wasn’t going to back down.
Roaring Tide’s fury reached a boiling point, and his next words came out like a death sentence. “Leave now. And if I ever see you again, I-” His voice trembled with emotion as he took a threatening step forward. “I’ll kill you.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Soaring Hawk didn’t flinch, but his gaze turned cold. He looked at Roaring Tide one last time, then turned his back on the group. Prowling Fox, with a hesitant look towards Roaring Tide, followed him confidently. Tawny Canary, clearly reluctant, followed after her mate. One by one, a few more followed Soaring Hawk.
Roaring Tide watched them go, his chest heaving and his eyes burning. A gray she-cat who had appeared from the crowd gently cooed soft words to him, reassuring him that he had done the right thing. A few loyal cats remained, their heads low.
I remained frozen in place, my heart pounding in my chest. Soaring Hawk, the leader of our group – the one who led us, the one who held the group together, was now exiled. Went with him were Tawny Canary, Prowling Fox, and a few others who supported his innocence. They disappeared into the forest.
Many murmurs surrounded me. Some were conspiracy theories that a badger had killed her, meanwhile, others pointed out that Prowling Fox had been seen leaving the camp before dawn. I don't know what I think.
I couldn’t shake the image of Whispering Wing’s body - her lifeless eyes staring at the sky, her throat torn open by claws that were meant to protect her, not destroy her. Who had done this to her? And why? It felt wrong to even think about moving on without answers, without justice. Was it really Soaring Hawk?
We buried her that night, with her butterfly, under a proud oak tree.
I fear we have lost more than just Whispering Wing today.
We had lost ourselves.
Light eclipsed by a shred of night,
All consumed by fury’s might.
Whose claws had wrought death,
A story behind blank eyes left untold.
Within her throat was a caught breath,
Released by frustration bound to unfold.
Blood reflected the crimes not seen by dawn.
Accusations had split them like doe from her fawn,
And in the distance, the wind whispered:
Oh come kingdom, come.
