Descending from the rocks above,
Guided by hawk, not a dove.
In hollow fields they found dismay,
But wings of whimsy would lead their way.
Our home had simply become an endless horizon behind us, swallowed by the dark. Walking through the cover of the night, they felt like a distant memory along with the rest of our group – something out of our reach. Our paws continued to carry us further from the home we’ve known all our lives. We moved in silence, the cold air nipping at our fur. There was no certainty in the darkness – only the soft sound of paw steps and the occasional rustle of a breeze through the sparse trees.
The Twilight Trail, as Stoneteller had named it, was no more than a vague path marked by the setting sun. It was a shadowy trail into the unknown. We hoped it would guide us to something more than cold and hunger. Every night, we moved with the sunset. We traveled beneath the stars while the world slept. Our sleep during the day was plagued by uncertainty, none of us were sure where the next step would lead. Except for Soaring Hawk.
“Are we going to stop to hunt soon?” Prowling Fox muttered, and I nodded in agreement.
Before Soaring Hawk could answer, a yowl of panic sliced the air. My heart raced as I spun around, instinctively tensing. There, near the edge of the cliff, Dancing Feather had misstepped. The ground crumbled beneath their paws, sending rocks tumbling down and they fell into the chasm below. Their yowl echoed off the cliffs as they tumbled, disappearing with a sickening thud. Another scream followed, but the sound was muffled, quickly overtaken by the cascading rocks. Three cats, not just one - two more had slipped after the first, their bodies displacing loose stone as they fell. The air was filled with the sound of cracking stones and desperate cries.
“No!” Roaring Tide shouted, rushing forward, his claws scraping the rocky edge. He halted just in time, peering over into the depths. His face was twisted in disbelief. “Gone… They’re gone…” His voice was hollow as if the air had been stolen from him.
“Stay back from the edge!” Soaring Hawk barked sharply and Roaring Tide shuffled back. His eyes were hard, but there was a flicker of sorrow beneath them.
“We can’t leave! We have to save them.” Tawny Canary sobbed, stepping forward to the edge despite Soaring Hawk’s orders. Her mate, Prowling Fox, growled. He shoved her towards Soaring Hawk with his nose. “They’re gone, Tawny. They walk with our ancestors now.”
We gathered, forming a loose circle, eyes wide, trying to process what just happened. There was no time to grieve. Not a single moment to say goodbye. The mountain had taken them, and we had no choice but to keep moving.
“What... What happened?” I said, my voice shaking and my eyes wide. I was trembling. “How do we avoid that?”
“They moved too close to the edge,” Soaring Hawk said softly, but his voice was laced with regret. "We can’t afford to make the same mistake.”
We stood there in the silence of the night, the weight of our loss hanging over us like a shadow. The mountain had claimed three lives in a single instant, and there was no way to undo it. There was only the dark, and the endless path stretching ahead of us.
For a moment, no one spoke. We all knew that there was nothing we could do for them now. They were gone, and we couldn’t go back. The cold wind stung my fur, but it wasn’t just the chill of the night.
Soaring Hawk was the first to break the silence. “We keep moving,” his voice firm despite the grief in his eyes. “The mountain doesn’t get to decide who we are. Not anymore."
Hesitantly we trudged on, our pace slower, more cautious now.
It was a new day. Prowling Fox was the first to speak up with doubt following the events of last night.
“Sure, we’re moving farther away from the tribe,” Prowling Fox muttered, his voice rough with frustration as he padded next to me. “How do we even know when we’re there? What are we looking for? To lose more members of our patrol?”
Soaring Hawk, who had been walking ahead, glanced back over his shoulder. His gaze was sharp and unwavering, and I immediately looked down at my paws to avoid it. ”We’ll go where the sun is swallowed,” he said, his voice firm. “When we reach that point, we’ll know. You’ll feel it in the air. The land will change, and we’ll be safe.”
Prowling Fox didn’t seem convinced. He mumbled something I couldn’t make out to Tawny Canary and fell silent. His tail lashed in frustration as we continued onward, following the dimming light of the setting sun.
We moved in silence after that, yet the weight of Prowling Fox’s question still hung in the air. What are we searching for, exactly? A place, a sign, a way to escape the piercing grip of hunger and uncertainty that had followed us since the mountain had ceased to sustain us?
The further we walked, the more distant the mountain felt. It wasn’t just the land we were leaving behind. It was the very idea of home. The memory of our caves, the familiar scent of moss and earth, and the softness of my sister’s fur seemed to fade with each step. Our past lives, everything we’d ever known, had become nothing more than shadows trailing behind us. But we have to make it for the cats we lost. For Dancing Feather, and those we’ve left behind. We were coming up on the valleys now, thousands of tail-lengths away from our tribe.
Eventually, the sky began to lighten. The first hints of dawn crept along the edges of the horizon behind us. I glanced over at Whispering Wing, who had been walking quietly beside me. Her milky eyes, though wide and alert, had a distant quality to them. She hadn’t said much, as usual, but I could tell she wasn’t troubled by the uncertainty the rest of us carried following the events of last night. The fear. Maybe it was her quiet faith, or perhaps she was just more used to walking in silence than the rest of us.
As the first rays of the sun began to stretch across the sky, something fluttered in the corner of my vision. I turned my head just in time to see a pale, delicate butterfly drifting lazily through the air. Its gorgeous blue wings shimmered in the weak light of the early morning. I blinked, unsure of what I was seeing. It had truly appeared out of nowhere, like a dream. I chuckled, thinking of the strange stories the elders would tell – an ‘omen’, one of those signs that show a ‘new path’ has been chosen.
No one seemed to notice it. Every other cat continued walking, heads down – eyes focused on the uncertain path ahead.
Except for Whispering Wing.
She stopped suddenly, her head tilting slightly to the side. Her milky eyes, usually calm and reserved, were now focused on the butterfly with an intensity I couldn’t understand. She could see it. It danced around her as if beckoning her to follow.
“It’s…” She whispered, barely audible over the soft rustle of the wind. “It’s guiding us.”
I glanced at her, confused. The butterfly seemed erratic. There was no way to tell if it was leading us anywhere. But Whispering Wing didn’t wait for an answer. She started walking toward it, her steps slow and deliberate. Her eyes were fixed on the fluttering creature. Maybe it was nothing. But then again, maybe it wasn’t.
The others didn’t notice at first. They were lost in their own thoughts. But after a few moments, Soaring Hawk’s gravelly voice broke the silence.
“What is she doing?” His tone was sharp with curiosity.
I glance back to see Prowling Fox eyeing Whispering Wing with skepticism. “What’s there to follow?” he muttered, though I noticed his gaze lingering on the butterfly as well. “It’s just a bug.”
But Whispering Wing didn’t waver. She continued to follow it, her movements steady. The butterfly danced in front of her, always staying out of reach but never veering too far from her path.
“It’s showing us the way.” Whispering Wing murmured softly, more to herself than anyone.
A murmur rippled through the group. Some of the younger cats exchanged glances, their eyes bright with the hope they so desperately needed. A few of them, like me, glanced at the butterfly with hesitant curiosity. Others, like Prowling Fox, still didn’t seem convinced, but there was a flicker of doubt in his gaze.
Soaring Hawk shook his head, his hard gaze fixed on the butterfly as if willing it to disappear. "You’re ridiculous," he snapped, his voice sharp. "A butterfly doesn’t decide our fate."
The other older cats in our group didn’t speak immediately, but I could see the skepticism in their gaze. They were practical. They knew what we needed to survive – hunting, survival, shelter, a clear plan. Not… butterflies. Not paradise, like Half Moon promised so many seasons ago.
Whispering Wing kept walking towards the delicate creature. Slowly, to my surprise, a few of the younger cats followed. First one, then another. Prowling Fox let out a low, frustrated growl, but even he hesitated. His eyes lingered on the others - cats who’d been with him, who’d fought alongside him through moons of struggle. It wasn’t just one cat following the butterfly now. It was more and more.
"Are we really going to do this?" he muttered, glancing at Soaring Hawk.
For a moment, Soaring Hawk hesitated. His claws scraped against the rocks. His eyes flicked from Whispering Wing’s unshakable form to the butterfly, still fluttering in the early morning light. Then, he sighed deeply. His broad shoulders sagged. “If they’re going to do it, we can’t let them do it alone. It’s dangerous to let them wander off like this.”
Prowling Fox grunted In frustration but nodded. It wasn’t just for Whispering Wing’s sake. It was for the others, the younger ones who had placed their trust in something uncertain. If we let them go, what would happen? We’d lose more than just hope.
So we walked. Slowly, we walked, the butterfly leading us, its pale wings fluttering like a whisper against the wind. It flitted ahead, never too far, but always out of reach. There was something mesmerizing about it. The way it moved, its delicate dance through the air as if it knew exactly where it was going. The blind was leading the blind.
Finally, just as the sun climbed higher in the sky, the butterfly fluttered down toward the base of a small hill. It rested on a patch of grass, its wings still, its delicate body barely moving.
I glanced around, confused and disappointed. This was it?
And I saw it.
Prey.
It was a small rabbit that hopped out from the undergrowth. Its nose was twitching as it sniffed the air. It wasn’t the kind of prey we had been finding in our territory. It wasn’t sick or weak. It was strong, and healthy, with thick fur and an alert gaze.
The rabbit was caught, and shared among us, a small feast in a land that had previously offered little. It felt like a gift. We ate quickly, silently, and then, with no other clear plan, we began to follow the butterfly again, even as the sun continued to rise higher.
And this time, we didn’t hesitate. We kept moving, following the pale wings of the butterfly, which fluttered ever onward. It was guiding us. Or so we thought.