Dusk Fall

Little Skull

Frost’s heart ached. He’d been so ready to tear some sense into his birdbrained sister when they’d first escaped the jaws of danger, but now. . .? Well, now Frost just felt bad. The sparkle that normally danced in her honey eyes was nowhere to be found and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a creature look so scared! It stirred some dormant, protective instinct in him, that drove him great lengths to keep her safe.

Though he longed for his nest and his Broodie, and most importantly, a nice long sleep, his Litterkin’s need was far greater than his own. They would get home. He would get them home. He would protect Whisper. He would—

Frost’s belly growled its desperate protest, sharply snapping him back into reality. He would find them something to eat.

His eyes scanned the shadowy features of the forest. He knew his kind were not known for their eyesight, let alone their abysmal sense of smell. Despite the odds stacked against him, determination willed Frost onward. He carefully traipsed his way through tree after tree, balancing on the thin, swaying pathways the canopy afforded him. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs and slowed his progress. The sun only peeked its head over the hills, night fast closed in around them.

Frost could see his own breath fogging the air in front of him.

The forest appeared as no more than a collection of black sticks. He knew he had to find food quickly.

A sudden flurry of wings above his head caught his attention. Frost watched eagerly as a small bird fluttered into the night sky, leaving—A nest!

His belly growling with need, Frost changed his course. He climbed higher into the tree, sneaking along the branch that held his prey. Peering over the wall of the nest, he let out a trill of delight when he saw three speckled eggs laying, unattended in their nest. Normally, Dusk Flight—The flight Frost was born to—Heavily discouraged taking eggs. The unhatched deserved a chance to breath air into their tiny lungs. Frost hoped they could forgive him and his litterkin in such a dire circumstance. He didn’t want to force his sister to go hungry!

As quickly as he could manage while still being careful not to c***k the shells, Frost gathered all three eggs up in the palm of his snatcher. “I’m sorry, bird broodie. I hope you aren’t too sad when you come home to your empty nest.” Guilt pricked his pelt and he felt hot shame for his actions as he left the scene of his crime.

He weaseled his way back down the tree, his progress much slower now that he was egg-laden. He couldn’t move too quickly and risk breaking their dinner. He hoped Whisper was alright. By the time he finally dragged himself over the ledge and back into the hollow, Frost nearly lived up to his name. His fur started to collect frost on the tips, matting it together in freezing clumps. With his teeth chattering, he called out to Whisper.

“I-I brought e-e-eggs!” He announced, watching Whisper’s head suddenly shoot upwards, a scrap of their temporary nest dangling from her ear. She used a whisker to flick it away and shook the nest bits from her pelt.

“You brought the cold, too.” She yawned, playfully teasing him and closing the distance between them. Whisper sat beside him in the amassing darkness, the only source of light came from her glowing eyes. Frost chittered gratefully when his litterkin groomed the frigid lumps from his fur. “You better dry off before you get into the nest. I don’t wanna go to sleep damp.”

Frost blinked warmly at her. “Of course. Here, I brought food.” He kept one of the eggs for himself, gingerly rolling the other two to Whisper. She glanced down at the eggs and he thought he saw something like disapproval flash across her eyes, but it was gone before he could be sure.

“This feels like a bad omen. . .” She mumbled softly, propping one of the eggs up between her hindlegs using one of her foreclaws to break a small hole in the shell. She carefully widened it and dipped her tongue into the still warm egg.

“I know. We have to eat, though.” Frost responded, his teeth still chattering as he mimicked his sister, breaking a hole in the shell for him to drink the rich liquid from. Ravenous, Frost devoured his egg in a few desperate gulps, his muzzle buried inside, tongue scraping the insides of the shell for scraps. It took the edge off his hunger, but no more. Whisper ate much slower. Frost already ate through the shell, by the time she started working on her second egg. She broke into it and gave it one half-hearted lap of her tongue, before shaking her head.

“I’m too sleepy to eat. Will you finish this?” Whisper asked.

Frost didn’t need to be asked twice. He snatched the egg from her and tucked in, practically forcing his muzzle through the c***k to clean out the contents in a few famished mouthfuls. By the time he’d finished his second egg his belly felt comfortably full, and exhaustion weighted every hair on his pelt until he felt himself sinking into the floor.

Whisper spent the rest of her free moments grooming the dampness from his pelt as best she could, and when he dropped the last spent shell, she leaned against his shoulder. Her wings dragged on the ground; Frost couldn’t blame her. He sagged against her body as she led him to the nest. By the time they’d stumbled over the edge of the nest and curled around each other, Frost was already halfway to dreaming.

His head plunked down beside Whisper’s, the litterkin laying muzzle to muzzle. Her soft breathing was enough to lure him into the sanctuary of his dreams.

The moment his skull lifted from the nest, Frost had only one singular goal in mind. Get he and his sister home—Safely. Nothing else mattered. Frost didn’t want to bother Whisper, who still lay sound asleep curled up in the nest. He couldn’t believe it. They actually survived an entire night on their own. They’d done the impossible!

And still, they had one more impossible task ahead looming over them. Find their way back to their flight, without knowing which way to go.

“Food first—Journey later.” He quietly asserted to himself. He felt much too young—much to small—to be making the decisions he made, and yet. . . What choice did he have? Whisper needed him.

He poked his muzzle into the cold morning light, and gasped. The ground was blanketed in snow! He’d heard stories of the fluffy white stuff that fell from the sky like bits of cloud, smothered the ground, and turned the trees into dangerous traps for inexperienced fliers. How would they find food now? All the bugs would be curled up in their own nests, hidden well away from him. And they were too small to hunt for themselves!

He flicked his whiskers, frustrated with their luck. Why did the spirits always have to bring him such poor fortune? Frost looked down, eyes widening with surprise. He recognized a small mouse, shuffling along the roots of a nearby oak. “No way. . .” He breathed, voice dripping with sheer disbelief. “Is that our acorn--?” He could see the scrawny creature desperately dragging the nut over the snow. He must have been starving to brave this weather for a stale old acorn like that. “Oh, if only I could hunt!” He squeaked in despair.

A flash of silver caught his eye and Frost turned just in time to see Whisper throw herself silently from the hollow. Her wings were spread as wide as an eagle’s, snatcher poised at the ready. She landed right on top of the starving mouse, palm first. They both disappeared beneath the snow. There was a shrill squeal. And all was still.

Nervously Frost backed up as if he intended to throw himself out after his litterkin—But there was no need with Whisper already digging herself out, the body of a mouse dangling precariously from her jaws. She had trouble clearing the snow. Frost could see her bunching her hind legs, launching herself forward, and sinking into the snow with every landing. She managed to scramble up onto one of the roots of their tree and shook the snow from her pelt. Fluffing up against the morning chill, Whisper climbed back up to join her brother in the hollow.

“You make a good hunter.” Frost chuffed softly. And, he meant it. He’d never heard of a whelpling catching a mouse on her first try!

“I’ll make a better scavenger.” She responded, dropping the mouse on the ground between them. Her kill seemed a little messy, but Frost wasn’t going to turn down a good meal. He made himself comfy and bent his neck to grab a mouthful of fresh mouse-meat. Despite the tough, stringy meal, his mouth watered, and his belly growled demandingly. Between the two of them, the mouse was no more than a pile of scrap fur and bones.

“We should get moving. It wouldn’t be very smart to travel through the trees, with all the snow on the ground. If we bump the wrong branch, a snow-fall might get us. I think we’re going to have to walk.”

Whisper paused her grooming to regard him—perhaps fearfully—before her expression cleared, and she slowly nodded. “That snow-stuff down there, we can walk on it. I woulda been walking on it, but after I broke through with the mouse, the snow kept crumbling beneath my claws.”

“Good thinking. I bet if we go now we might be able to find home by moonrise!” Frost trailed his tail along Whisper’s flank, urging her to her claws. They needed to get moving if they wanted even a chance to see their Flight again.

He carefully led her down the tree, stopping every few moments to flick his whiskers out, sensing for danger. The stillness in the air was almost unnerving. Even the birds didn’t sing.

They stepped out onto the snow together, avoiding the broken crust where Whisper’d already broken through. It crunched softly underclaw but held firm. “We have to keep an eye out for danger, remember, Whisper. An eye, and an ear. Keep your whiskers out. We can’t let any monsters sneak up on us.”

“Oh no, we can’t have that, now can we. Not monsters.” There were no beating wings to alert the litterkin of their impending capture. Frost froze at the sound of a deep, growling voice. And suddenly, they found themselves pinned beneath huge snatchers, forced into the cold snow.

“Frost!” Whisper’s shrill cry drove a thorn into his heart. He had to protect his sister!

But, as he struggled to turn his gaze upon the enemy, his heart sank. He knew they stood no chance. Five fully grown bats had nothing to fear from two whelplings.

“Peak, they’re just whelplings. Don’t smell like ours though.” His gravelly call sounded so unlike the sweet songs of his flight.

“That’s because they ain’t ours, Cliff. Use your ‘ead.” He cuffed his smaller, cool brown companion over the back of his head with his wing.

“Are they spies?” Chimed in a runty black male.

“W-We’re not spies!” Frost interrupted. “W-We got lost!”

“Lost?” Snorted Peak. “‘Chu doin’ out of your nursery in the first place, runt? You a

lo-o-o-o-ong way from home.” His breath smelled like bad mouse-meat, and his temperament reminded Frost of the stories he heard of hedgehogs. Prickly and unpredictable.

“We ought to get them back where they belong, don’t you think?” Spoke up a sandy colored male. His eyes were kind and he appeared to be the youngest of the five. He had the most uniquely colored eyes Frost had ever seen! Blue ringed with gold. It reminded him of the dawn sky.

“Why should we have to take responsibility for a couple of dumb pups? Let them be wolf-food.” Peak snorted.

“If you want to go back to Valley and Lake and tell them you left a couple of young whelplings to die, be my guest. I’m not going against the Law of Flight.” The sandy male responded. “Let them up. They’ll freeze to death if you don’t.”

Each of the Flight Guards who restrained them—Peak and Cliff—Let their prey stand. Frost spat out a melting mouthful of snow and glared at his much larger captives.

“Alright, you little dung’eads.” Peak snorted. “Tell us exactly why you came here.”

Frost opened his mouth to defend themselves, but Whisper cut across him. “It was my fault, Peak.” She dipped her head respectfully, and Frost could see the scarred male start to relax. Clearly, he enjoyed the soft, wondering tone Whisper spoke to him in. “My Broodie told us a story about a fox, and. . . I snuck out because I wanted to go see it. Frost tried to convince me to come home, but I wouldn’t listen, and he didn’t have time to find help.”

A soft chuckling chorus met her story with amusement. “You got all the way out here on your own? Wish our whelplings were half as spirited.” Frost watched Whisper brighten at the sandy male’s compliment. “Go on, then what? Did you find your fox?”

Whisper tittered excitedly forward, sitting down in front of the loose half-circle of males now indulging his sister. “Yes! But. . .it was dead. It looked like it had its paw trapped in some strange. . . Trap!” The light of adventure was blazing like a wildfire behind her eyes and Frost relaxed a little. Considering the trouble they would be in once they got home, Frost decided to let her play the hero of her story for a while.

“Oh yeah? So wha’, you got scared, and ran off here?” Peak teased, though not unkindly. He’d taken a liking to Whisper, Frost could see it in every flick of his whiskers.

“No! I wanted to get a look at the trap. It looked like Old Ones’ stuff, and I thought if I could bring some home, the Tinkerers would be sure to choose me!” The sandy male laughed the hardest out of his friends.

“Oh, she’s spirited alright! What’s your name?”

“I won’t tell you my name until you tell me yours! Besides, I wasn’t done with my story!” Whisper bounced excitedly in front of her now captive audience, and the older flight males seemed to eat up every second of it.

“My name’s Rock, little skull. I’m sorry to have interrupted. Please, do go on with your story.”

“My name’s Whisper!” She trilled. “And—And—After that, we heard some growling, and there was a h-u-g-e monster. Three times as big as the dead fox. He wanted to eat us!”

The gathered males collectively stiffened. A few of them glanced shiftily around the woods as if expecting to be attacked by the monster in her story. “You say—Bigger than the fox? What color were his eyes?”

“Yellow!”

“Peak!”

“Yeah, I know. C’mon pups. Up you get. We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Rock grabbed Whisper tightly in his snatcher, much to her dismay. “But my story!” She yelped, wriggling against his tight grip.

“You can finish your story on the way back. It isn’t safe here right now. Not with the wolf around.” He responded, lifting his wings, and catching the air beneath them, launching them into the air. “Tell me, little sensible one—Frost—What is your name. Your full-name.”

Frost climbed onto Peak’s back, and he took off after Rock. “My. . .? Oh! Yeah! I am Frost Dusk-Flight.”

“Dusk-Flight.” Peak grunted. “Cliff! Take the other two back to Valley and tell him where we’re going—Dusk Hollow.”

When Frost’s companion fell in-wing beside Rock, he could hear Whisper chattering on as if the interruption never occurred.

“—He chased us up a tree! He almost had us, but Frost—You know, my litterkin, Frost—He had the best idea ever! We were stuck in that little tree, and Frost made me grab an acorn, and—”

Frost glanced over, locking eyes with Rock. He was grinning widely, a chuckle in his throat.

“Sounds like you two had quite the adventure. You’re lucky you had Frost to look out for you, Whisper Dusk-Flight. Imagine if he wasn’t there to get you away from the wolf!”

Frost knew he should have felt proud to be recognized by a fully Flighted bat, but his words left a cold pit in his stomach. What if he hadn’t been there to save Whisper?