They said Siltpaw hadn’t come back yet. That was all. Just that. Just a casual off-paw comment from someone. I wasn’t even supposed to be listening. I was just- there. Lurking. As usual. Eavesdropping for something funny. Something I could twist into a joke and throw back at Sully later. But his name. They said his name. And then everything in me froze. I said I was going for a walk. I didn’t wait for permission. I didn’t wait for anyone to follow. I bolted out of camp like I was being chased by something with teeth, but I wasn’t. Nothing was chasing me. Except a thought. Except the thought that Sully was out there somewhere and he hadn’t come back. And that wasn’t like him. He always came back. Even if he was sulking or scheming or lying through his teeth- he always came back. The beach was wind-blown and gray. The cliffs groaned like they didn’t want me there. “SULLY!” I shouted. Nothing. “SUL- Siltpaw! Come on, this isn’t funny!” I tried to make it sound like a joke. Like I was annoyed. Like I already saw him smirking behind a dune with some dumb line about crabs and destiny and- and he didn’t answer. The wind did. The waves did. But not him. And then I saw him. He was lying between two rocks, just past the tide line, twisted up in seaweed like some clawed kelp had tried to drag him back into the sea. His fur was flattened. His tail was limp. At first, I just thought- hurt. He was hurt. He had to be hurt. That’s why he wasn’t moving. That’s why he didn’t call out. I ran to him. I told myself not to panic. I even laughed- just a little- when I tripped on the sand. I shouted something like “You look awful!” because that’s what I always said to him when he’d lost a fight or scraped his muzzle. But then I got close. And I saw his face. His eyes weren’t shut. One was cracked open, barely. His tongue stuck out just a little, like he’d been in the middle of saying something. His paws were curled awkwardly. His claws had dried bl00d on them. And he wasn’t- He wasn’t- “Siltpaw?” My voice cracked. I nudged his shoulder. Nothing. I pressed my ear to his chest. Nothing. I waited for a breath. I waited for warmth. I waited for a twitch or a groan or for him to suddenly sit up and go “HA! Got you again, Kig.” But nothing happened. And I said his name again, quieter. I shook him. “Siltpaw, wake up. This isn’t funny. I don’t- I didn’t even do anything yet, you can’t be mad, just wake up.” I was whispering now. I didn’t even notice the tears until I tasted salt that wasn’t from the sea. “Come on. You can’t leave first. That’s my job. I’m supposed to go down dramatically in some seagull-related explosion, and you’re supposed to lie about it for moons and make every apprentice cry with your dumb stories.” Still nothing. I curled around him, pressed my head into his shoulder, and whispered, “I’m not ready to be the one who remembers you.” I don’t know how long I stayed there. Long enough for the wind to die down. Long enough for the sun to inch lower. Long enough to start forgetting how it felt to hear him laugh. When they found me, I didn’t say a word. I just stared ahead, curled around my brother’s body, my claws sunk into the sand like I could hold both of us there forever. And I still didn’t believe it. Because how do you believe the world keeps turning without him in it?
oh kig...
