Dusk Fall

Green Pine Cones

Five moonrises came and went in a squeal-filled blur. The eggs hatched into four annoying, noisy newborn whelplings. They only ever cried for food and cried for their Broodie. Frost spent nearly all his time fawning over the dumb things. It was like he didn’t even care that Broodie Pollen was gone!

He’d tried to coax her out to play, but Whisper wouldn’t be swayed. Broodie Poppy didn’t want her near her precious babies, she wouldn’t bother her. Whisper knew when she wasn’t wanted.

The thought that she may finally get to leave behind the fussy broodies and the squeaking whelplings made her long nights bearable. And in a moonrise, she would finally know if the Tinkerers chose her to be their next scavenger! Nothing could overshadow that flame of excitement, even the hole in her heart Broodie Pollen left behind.

Finally the whelplings’ squealing quieted. She could hear them settling down for a nap. Frost’s muffled voice floated over her ears—She didn’t catch his words—And after the soft scrabbling of his claws across the Hollow he was in the nest beside her. Whisper didn’t want visitors.

She huffed and turned roughly over, keen to ignore him.

“Come on, Whisper. You can’t keep moping forever.” His voice cracked with sadness. It didn’t matter. Whisper didn’t need his pity.

“I’m not moping.”

“Then what do you call it, birdbrain? You’ve been laying in the nest so long; you’ve left a dent in the nest wall! You’ve barely eaten more than a moth leg since we came home—And you haven’t groomed your pelt! You look like a bundle of nest scraps!” Frost insisted, draping one of his whiskers over her back.

“So? Maybe I just haven’t felt like doing any of that stuff! You need to mind your own nest Frost. You’re always butting into mine.” Bristling with indignation, she turned her glowing eyes on Frost and hissed defensively.

“But you haven’t been taking care of yourself, Whisper! How do you expect to catch up to the other Whelps when you’re half starved, and don’t even groom your own pelt? Tomorrow we’re going to find out our place in the Flight. Aren’t you even a little excited?”

Whisper didn’t respond at first. She let the silence stretch between them, satisfied to watch her litterkin squirm uncomfortably under her narrow-eyed glare. But, her whiskers twitched, and she relented. “Yeah. I suppose I am.” She answered begrudgingly.

“I’ll be the best Flight Guard I can be! I’ll miss you when you’re off on adventures for the Tinkers.” He edged closer and Whisper didn’t stop him. It felt nice to feel a sense of closeness rekindling with Frost. She’d spent so much time on her own, she nearly forgot how nice it felt to be preened.

“Maybe you can be my Flight Guard, when I go out on adventures. Then you can keep looking after me.” She teased. Frost exhaled a playful hiss through his sharp teeth and cuffed her with his wing.

“Oh yeah, you’ll need me around to keep you from wandering into a hungry monster’s mouth, won’t you?” He threw himself on top of her, and Whisper realized just how much he’d grown in the tine they’d been stuck in the Nursery Hollow. Her breath squashed out of her lungs and her wings couldn’t support his weight. She was pressed into the nest her brother’s hind claws gently batting against her flanks.

“You’re like a mob of crows!” She puffed. “Get off!” But she couldn’t even throw him off! Maybe his words had some truth to them. They would have seven whole moonrises of training to catch up on—And she realized now how underfed she was.

“Surrender, and I might.” He retorted, his whiskers twitching with amusement. Whisper growled, and writhed beneath him, but he only grabbed the nest wall with his snatcher and steadied himself. “You’re making it harder on yourself. You can accept the terms of my surrender or I’ll just take a nap on you.”

“Toadstool!” She swore but grinned despite herself. Frost chased the storm clouds in her mind away and she could feel her good spirits returning, albeit slowly like water trickling through a stream. “What are your terms?”

“You’re going to eat a whole mouse. Then, we’re gonna get your whole pelt groomed. And then, we’re going to have Broodie Poppy take us out to the Low Branches so you can get some exercise.”

Whisper growled again. “But how are you going to get her to agree to that? I don’t know if you’ve forgotten but we’re kind of not allowed to leave the Hollow.” She didn’t want to go anywhere with Broodie Poppy anyway. She would never be her Broodie.

“I already got her to agree. She said if I could get you to eat a whole mouse and get your pelt cleaned up, she’d take us out to stretch our wings.” She could feel the self-satisfaction rolling off of his pelt in smug waves. He always thought he was so clever!

And, beneath the annoyance of Frost always sticking his muzzle in her business, she felt a genuine flash of pride. Her brother knew how to look out for his fellow Flight members.

“Fine, whatever you say. I’m not getting up to get my own mouse though.” She insisted, unable to resist the urge to be difficult.

“No, that’s because you’re going to start on your pelt. You smell like a dead rat! Start grooming and I’ll get your food.” He ordered, deftly leaping off her back, and padding over the nest wall. Crossly, she craned her neck to rasp her tongue over her back fur. Wincing at the stale taste, Whisper had to admit—She really did let her pelt matt and snarl with bits of the nest she’d spent so long laying in.

She felt filthy.

By the time she’d worked through her mane, Frost returned with a warm dead mouse in his jaws.

He laid it on the ground next to her, nosing it closer to her. Whisper offered him a weak grin in return, gently knocking her skull into his neck. “Thank you Frost, it’s good to know I have you to look out for me, even when I can’t look out for myself.”

“I’ll always be here to look after you, Whisper. You’re my Litterkin. It’s what I’m here for.” He answered back. Whisper dipped her head to grab a mouthful of mouse-meat. The strange haze that’d fallen over her since they’d been returned to the Hollow was dissipating. A sense of normalcy stole over her with every bite she swallowed. Frost sat beside her, using his foreclaws to drag debris out of the tangles of her fur, rasping his tongue against her pelt to groom it back into shape.

Whisper crooned. He didn’t complain at the musty, stale scent of the nest in her fur. She let the peace of the moment ease the pain in her heart and loosen the hard knot in her belly. By the time she’d reduced her mouse to scraps of fur and bone, her pelt gleamed mottled silver again. She felt renewed. Ready to face her next adventure.

“C’mon, let’s go talk to Broodie Poppy. We’ll get you Flight ready!”

Whisper trembled with enthusiasm. It shook her to her core leaving the little whelp-to-be almost dancing at the Hollow Ledge. She sat, side by side with Frost, Broodie Poppy and Broodie Ivy proudly sitting sentry behind them. Night would be arriving any wingbeat! She’d groomed her pelt so thoroughly, Frost teased her about pulling out her own fur. He was just as excited, even if he liked to act more mature than her.

“Ready to finally leave the nursery, little wings?” Broodie Ivy’s warm voice dripped with pride for the little Whelplings before her.

Before either of the litterkin could answer, Night was upon them. Hovering just outside the Hollow, he looked down at the pair of them. “You behaved yourselves better than any Whelplings I’ve ever seen. Your Brood Mothers told me very good things about you. I’ve thought long about the story you told me, Frost, and I spoke with my vanguard. Your little adventure was very telling.”

Whisper could swear her heart beat right through her chest. This was it! She was going to be a scavenger! She would go on adventures, and her brother would be her guard. Just like Broodie Pollen, Whisper knew exactly who she wanted to be. How she could serve her Flight.

“Frost. You have shown courage in the face of danger, serenity in the face of impossible odds, and foresight I never thought possible from such a young soul. For this reason, I name you as a Scavenger.”

Whisper froze. She could feel her brother stiffening beside her.

“Whisper.” He turned his warm gaze on her. “You have shown yourself to possess incredible endurance, quick reflexes, and a natural skill with your fangs and claws. Because of that, I name you a Hunter.” He dipped his head in turn to each of the stricken pair. “Your Broodies will help you settle in to the Whelp Hollow. We will hold a feast in your honor, once our hunters return.” Without waiting for a reply, he whirled around, and flew back towards the canopy.

“Whisper, I—”

“Forget it.” She hissed, swallowing back the bitter disappointment welling up in her throat. Were the spirits set against her? Was she destined to always have what she wanted just out of reach?

“Maybe I can go talk to him. I bet if I told him about how you were going to see what trapped the fox, he would see—”

“I said forget it!” She half stumbled from the ledge. “Broodie Ivy, could you please take us to the Whelp Hollow?” She didn’t have a glance to spare for Frost. She felt his gaze burning into her pelt, but she refused to look up from her foreclaws. It wasn't his fault, but that didn't make it any easier for the young wing.

“Yes, I’ll take you to the Whelp Hollow. Are you ready to go, Frost?” She murmured softly. Whisper couldn’t stand that sad look in her eyes. She just wanted to get away from it all. Curl up in her nest and forget her time in the Whelpling hollow. She bitterly wished she’d never gone on that stupid adventure—That Broodie Pollen never told her that stupid story!

“I’m ready to go, Broodie Ivy.” Came Frosts morose reply.

“No Branching until you meet with your flight guide, and make sure to play nice with all of the other Whelps! Your guides will come to you before the moon falls.” Ivy used her tail to gently guide them up onto the ledge. “Just keep close to me, and I’ll show you to the hollow.”

Whisper hissed softly, why did she need to be pushed around like a newborn? She was a Whelp now! But, she followed dutifully. Broodie Ivy hugged the trunk of the tree, carefully picking her path through the branches that blocked their way. Whisper didn’t bother to watch where she set her claws, bumping into Ivy’s flank.

“Careful dear.” She called over her shoulder. Where their old Hollow featured a thick ledge of knotted wood to crawl over, the Whelp Hollow sported a huge branch, flat and open for all the Whelps to sun themselves or take off.

“Sorry.” Whisper replied curtly, not feeling very sorry. She crawled around Broody Ivy, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to wait for Frost. He would be leaving her behind anyway—To go on adventures. Jealousy reared its ugly head, scoring her heart with its poison claws.

The Whelp Hollow was much larger than the Whelpling Nursery, and even in her bad mood Whisper couldn’t help feeling a little impressed. The ceiling was alive with glowing moss that softly lit the enclosed space. There were a few other Whelps milling about. A grey vixen moonily preened a dark brown drake. Three litterkin sat in a huddle, working their teeth on a few woody pinecone scales. A snowy drake sprawled out in a patch of light, sunning himself.

Whisper didn’t see any nests.

“Hey! You’re Whisper—And Frost—Aren’t you?” Squeaked out one of the Litterkin—A tan vixen with blue eyes. “Do you want to come help us scale these pinecones?”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m looking for my nest.” Whisper responded. Before she could get very far she felt teeth gently sink into her scruff, and drag her back.

A huge drake stood beside her. “No you don’t, little one.” Came his merry, teasing voice. “You’ll have plenty of time for sleeping later. ‘Sides, your Broodie hasn’t even finished your nest yet. You ought to make yourself useful, Whisper. There’s work to be done.”

Whisper glared ferociously up at this strange male. Who was he to tell her what to do? She opened her muzzle, ready to deliver a scathing retort, but he flicked a long whisker across her mouth, silencing her.

“Oh no, that’s no way to speak to your Hunt Guide, now is it?”

“I didn’t say anything!” She hissed back. Her pelt bristled, and her tail started to lash. Yet, she added on silently.

“I know the look of a sharp tongue when I see one. You can call me Guide Stick. I’ll be your Hunting Guide, until you’re ready to join the ranks of the Hunters, little wing. Your name is Whisper, of course. I expect to see you helping your denmates. I’ll fly by during your branching to see how you’re getting along.

Without waiting to see if she obeyed, Stick turned towards the Landing Branch. He paused, briefly casting a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll have a warm nest waiting for you after you’ve finished scaling those pinecones and stuffing your belly. I’m not as mean as I look, I promise.” And with a flick of his tail and an infuriating grin on his muzzle, he was gone.

Resentfully, Whisper picked her way across the field of wood scraps littering the floor. She stood awkwardly in front of the trio of litterkin, her mind going over all the rude words she could spit at Stick. “So. . . How exactly do you scale a pinecone?” Her voice sounded a little too begrudging, even for her. Whisper decided it was too much work to be this angry all the time.

“I’ll show you!” Piped up the lightest coated of the three. “You’re name’s whisper, right? I’m Gust, and this is my brother Gale—” He brushed a whisker over the smallest drake. “—And this is Screech.”

Whisper self-consciously dipped her head in greeting to each of the three, quietly repeating their names.

“Don’t worry, it’s not hard. And once you get the hang of it, you can scale a whole pinecone in a couple of wingbeats.” Said Screech, his eyes glittering, gaze resting on Whisper. Something about him set a nervous flutter loose in her belly.

Frost set his claws beside her, standing shoulder to shoulder with Whisper. “Can I help too?” He asked, earnestly.

Whisper bristled, unable to smother the stabbing resentment that pricked her heart. She didn’t want to be jealous of her brother, but it wasn’t fair! She would be stuck learning how to bite mice and snatch moths, meanwhile, her brother would be trained in the art of adventure. Why had the spirits been so unkind--?

“Yeah! Look, watch me. You can help me scale, and Screech and Gale will break open the seedpods!” Gust seemed absolutely delighted to help them learn about their new duties as young members of the Flight. Whisper vaguely remembered these three. They left the Nursery only a few moons after her hatching.

Whisper forced herself to swallow her jealousy and turned a keen eye on Gust’s sharp claws. She watched him set a pinecone in the palm of his snatcher, steadying it with his digits. He wormed both foreclaws in between the tightly closed scales—This late in the year, they could usually only find green-cones. The seeds weren’t as tasty, but they helped keep the Flight fed in the cold grip of winter.

At least, she’d heard one of the broodie’s reminiscing fondly about it. She’d never had a brown-cone seed herself.

“You have to use your foreclaws to dig into it. If you can separate even one of the scales, then you should have no problem getting the others loose. Just be really careful—The spikes on the outside can dig into your thinner fur, before you’ve had a chance to toughen it up.”

“Yeah, that looks easy enough.” Frost responded, grabbing a pinecone in his teeth, and dragging it into an open space beside Gust. Whisper hesitated, watching them for a wingbeat longer. Was this really to be her life? Taking apart pinecones, and dragging food home for her Flight?

Whisper felt far too small to deal with such cynical thoughts.

She grabbed a small pinecone of her own and sat on Gust’s other side. She wiggled her foreclaws along the lattice of scales feeling for a weak point. She ignored Frost’s subtle attempts to catch her eye, pretending her pinecone required all her focus. Her claws kept slipping on he smooth outer shell, unable to find a purchase, she threw it down, disgusted with herself.

“It’s alright Whisper,” Gust cheerily squeaked. “You’ll get it eventually!”