Dusk Fall

Branching

Whisper hated him. Even if she pretended she just wasn’t listening, or didn’t see his frantic attempts to catch her attention, Frost knew better. She couldn’t stand that he was going to be a Scavenger and she wasn’t. He couldn’t really blame her. From the moment she first heard the stories of courageous bats and their perilous journeys into the ruins of the old ones, Whisper wanted to be a scavenger.

He wanted to be mad at her selfishness—Why couldn’t she be happy for him? It wasn’t like he wanted to be a Scavenger, he wanted to be a Flight Guard! But these treacherous thoughts burned themselves out quickly and just left him feeling achingly lonely. She didn’t even sleep in the nest beside him. She pulled their broodie aside while she set up the nests and asked if she could sleep beside Gust.

He hadn’t even known until they laid down to rest. He curled up after the feast, head buzzing with all the friends he’d made and his exciting meeting with his Scavenger Guide. His training could begin much sooner than most of the other Whelps—But he still had to get through preflight training.

In his mind, Frost tensed his muscles and beat his wings, leaping from branch to branch with unparalleled ease. His guide told them that imaginary flying was a great way to practice flying even from their nests. He brightened seeing Whisper chattering animatedly to her new friend—Gust—and his heart cracked. She didn’t even look at him. Pacing right past him, she settled several nests down from his. He didn’t want to lose his sister, but she wasn’t giving him a choice!

Biting down on a soft desperately lonely whimper, he buried his muzzle beneath his snatcher and forced himself to think on the bright side. At least he would learn to fly tomorrow.

There was a small hole in the rear wall of the hollow that lead to the sleeping den. During the day, the Whelps would do their flight chores, socialize, and sun themselves in the comfort of their hollow, and return to the den to sleep. Not every Whelp flew on the same schedule—The hunters were often active during dawn and dusk, when there wasn’t enough light for their prey to see them. Scavengers, like him, would be most active during the bright hours of the day, as well as Foragers who relied upon the bright sunlight to spot food for their flight. Menders and Flight Guards were active whenever they were needed.

Each of the fully flight realized bats could roost in their own hollow or den, specifically tended for them. Not the Whelps though. They were all piled together in the Whelp Hollow. All the schedule confusion would’ve made it difficult to sleep—If not for their nest den.

Shaking the nest scraps from his pelt and giving himself a quick once over with his tongue, Frost joined Whisper, Gust, his litterkin, and a couple of vixens he didn’t recognize on the Flight Branch.

“Hi Frost!” Gale greeted him with surprising enthusiasm. Frost dipped his skull politely in response. Whisper still determinedly fixed her gaze anywhere but the space he occupied. She was sitting so close to Gust their pelts brushed against each other.

He didn’t know why, but their closeness prickled his fur like a cold nose brushing it the wrong way.

“Any sign of our Flight Guide?” One of the vixens asked, a pretty tawny bat with moss green eyes. Her pelt glowed faintly in the early morning light and she smelled faintly of a warm nest. His heart beat a little faster as he beheld her.

“Not yet,” Replied her sister, snorting impatiently. “But then again, he’s never on time.”

Frost sat between the tawny vixen and Gust. Whisper didn’t seem to think the rest of the branch even existed! He sighed heavily and sat back hard on his hind claws, settling in for a lonely wait. He wouldn't get a chance to end their relationship that morning.

“It’s not so bad.” Sympathetically crooned the pretty vixen beside him. “Don’t listen to Lake, she slept on a pine scale and now she’s prickly.” The playful way the bright-eyed vixen shouldered her sister made Frost’s heart ache. “My name is Feather, what’s yours?”

“My name is Frost.” He responded quietly, not knowing what else to say. Something about the way her eyes lit up sparked a peculiar warmth beneath his pelt. “It’s nice to meet you Feather.”

She dipped her skull, her eyes sparkling. “You’re that wing who got lost looking for a fox, aren’t you?”

Before he could respond a pure white drake landed heavily on the flight branch, causing it to sway. “I’m you’re Flight Guide.” He announced unceremoniously. Unwillingly, Frost tore his gaze away from the vixen—Feather—And looked upon the newcomer. Privately, Frost thought he looked a little overfed to be a good Flight Guide, but Guide Cloud reached legend status among his peers.

Everywing knew there could be no finer Flight Guide than Cloud.

“But you’re to call me Flight Master, Fresh-wings. I can outfly the wind in a hurricane, and as long as you listen to what old Cloud has to tell you, you’ll be flyin’ like pros.” He sounded slightly out of breath. Maybe it was simply his age catching up to him?

“We already know that, Flight Master—” Lake interrupted.

“You do—But the fresh-wings don’t. ‘Sides, a refresher never hurt nowing.” He chuckled, cuffing her gently with one of his long whiskers.

“Which one ‘a you wants to give these fresh-wing’s a crash course on the “Three B’s of Branching?” Saves me time in the long run.” His grumble sounded less begrudging and more playful, but Frost didn’t know how he should feel about him.

Feather’s whiskers both shot straight up into the air. “I can do it, Flight Master!” She squeaked, glancing shyly at Frost.

“Good girl! On you go.” He dipped his skull graciously, settling onto the end of the Flight Branch. Frost wondered if this were a lesson—Or a chanse for the round Flight Master to catch his breath.

“Belief, balance, and bearing!” She answered proudly, puffing her chest out so the cream fur along her underside fluffed up.

“Clever little wing! C’mon then, tell us what that means?” A collective groan rose from the assembled whelps, but Frost was keen to hear more.

“Belief! You must believe in the strength of your body to carry you over any gap. A wing who doesn’t believe in their own strength can fall prey to the pull of the earth. Balance! That means you should always be sure your grip will not fail, and you can stay upright. If you try to take off, and you’re unbalanced, you can get really hurt. Bearings! That means that you always need to be sure of your direction in the air. Know which way is up, and you can always correct your path.”

“Splendid my dear. If only your practice was as good as your theory.” He teased gently. Feather dipped her head under her wing, letting out an embarrassed murmur of apology.

Frost decided he didn’t like this drake very much.

“Alright, alright, enough tooth clackin’. It’s time we were off.” He wriggled his haunches, spread his wings, and lifted off. “Gust. You and your litterkin can fly behind me. Lake, Feather, you two can lead Frost and Whisper to the Preflight tree. When you get there, grab a seat on the flight deck—And no branching until I tell you to—” His voice could sound surprisingly stern, for such a round, lazy drake.

Frost watched as Gust licked between Whisper’s ears, and unsteadily took off. He fell a few wingspans before he flapped clumsily back up into the air. His litterkin weren’t far behind.

Whisper shouldered past Frost mumbling a quiet; “Sorry. Let’s go.” But she didn’t spare him even a sideways glance. An ache of loneliness scored his heart with stone claws. It deepened seeing Lake give Feather an affectionate, reassuring rasp of the tongue. He missed his sister.

Lake shouldered herself ahead of Whisper. “C’mon. I’m the senior Whelp here. I’ll lead.” Whisper hissed indignantly in reply but fell in line behind the larger vixen. The start of a beautiful friendship, Frost thought dryly. They started a careful route through the trees. Frost noted with bittersweet amusement; they travelled in the opposite direction Whisper’d chosen on their ill-fated adventure. They never would have made it to the Preflight tree.

He missed wrestling with Whisper in their nest. He missed flinging silly names back and forth. He missed having somewing he had an unbreakable bond with. Friends came and went like the seasons, but your family was with you for life. Whisper was his litterkin, for spirit’s sake! And she acted like they were enemies! His mind whirled, desperate to find some way he could turn the tide of her affections. Maybe he could find some way to bring her into the Scavengers Hollow. That would—

“Frost? Are you okay?” Feather’s nectar-sweet voice broke into his troubled thoughts.

“What--? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just. . . Thinking about stuff.” He finished lamely. Feather giggled at him and Frost felt his pelt start to prickle. Was she making fun of him?

“I asked you what glide you’ll be in! I wanted to know if I might be seeing a little more of you.” She didn’t meet his gaze when she said that.

The prickly anger that burned his ears melted away into something much more confusing than anger. Something that Frost wasn’t sure he wanted to feel yet. He hesitated a few wingbeats, not sure how to answer her. They trailed a couple wingspans behind Lake and Whisper who walked in silence. They followed a well cultivated path—Branches from different trees were carefully bound together with ties of sturdy dried grass creating tiny swaying bridges to ease their journey to the Preflight tree. Flight Guards regularly tangled more grass into these blind branches, so the young, flightless Whelps could walk safely to their branching training grounds--The Preflight tree.

Finally, Frost spoke

“Me? Uh, I’ll be in the Scavengers Glide. What about you?”

Feather trilled with excitement. “You’re really—? Me too! Lake’s going to be in the Hunter’s Glide.”

“Oh—! Whisper is too!” He felt strangely warmed by the thought that he would soon be sharing a den with such a pretty vixen. “She’s not very happy with me right now, though.” Frost hung his head pulling himself more slowly along a thinner stretch of bound-branch.

“That’s so sad. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I’d quarreled with Lake. Kinhood is important!” One of her whiskers draped over his back, and she brushed her muzzle into his snatcher. “I’m sure she’ll come around, though. You’re her litterkin!” It prickled his pelt to feel how perfectly she fit into the curves of his body.

“I hope so,” He sighed heavily, having to pull his way through a thick clump of leaves, leaving some fur behind. “She wanted to be the Scavenger, I think she hates me, since Master Night chose me instead.” Why was he admitting all of this to a total stranger?

“I don’t think she hates you, Frost. She won’t stop glancing at you when she thinks you’re not looking. I think she’s hurting and doesn’t really know how to handle it.” Feather responded sagely.

Frost didn’t respond other than to turn to face her, and nudge his skull gently against hers. Feather briefly curled her tail around his before shooting off at top speeds down the tree-path.

“We’re almost there! We’re almost there! C’mon!” She squealed. Feather bounded between Whisker and Lake, charging straight for the Preflight tree.

Filled with a strange new energy Frost bounded after her.