[ part one. tw: death, blood ] No. No. No. No. He always wanted to find her. He always wanted to meet her. But not like this. Not with her spine snapped and her body torn apart. Not with fox-scent poisoning the air and blood staining the grass. It couldn’t be real. No. It couldn’t be.. The stingray continued on his journey. He was so close now! He could feel it. She was calling to him, leading him closer with each pawstep. He looked up, happy to see the crow flying with him. The thing had been following him ever since that wonderful night. Something hit him. A smell. It made him sick to his stomach. Fox-scent. He shook his head and tried to carry on. Tried to tell himself she was okay. But he knew in his heart what he was going to find. And yet he continued. Fighting nausea, fighting fate. No amount of fighting could stop this. And at last, after several grueling minutes. After what felt like an eternity. He stumbled onto the scene. Tears filled his multicoloured eyes. He crashed into the ground beside his mother. He opened his mouth, letting out a silent wail of distress. Oh how he yearned to be back home now. To have the comforting presence of his clanmates surrounding him. He did it. He found her. But why like this? Why did the ancestors have to take her? He closed her beautiful eyes, not being able to bear the eerie sightless look in them any longer. He shuddered a breath. He fought through his sobs of grief, cleaning her gorgeous fur. The crow landed beside him. It seemed to understand what was happening. It flitted up onto his back, watching him work. He moved her lifeless body away from the place of her death, weaving a soft, grassy nest over the bloodstains. He added lavender and mint to her deathbed as to mask the stench of fox. But more so the stench of death. He placed her gently back in the nest, arranging her body in such a way so that she was perfect again. He leaned back on his haunches, furrowing his brow. He could add something. He rose to his paws, padding around his mother with a sorrowful look. He plucked some flowers out of the earth. Chrysanthemum as respect for the fallen. Daisies for love. Snapdragon for strength. And oleander for beauty. He twisted them together, weaving around the she-cat until her fur was wrapped in a vine of colourful flowers. There. He glanced at the sun, now beginning to dip in the sky. He’d bury her tomorrow. Right now, he needed to stay with her. He curled up around her one last time, exhausted from crying. And grief heavy in his heart.
