Stella Finds Her Courage

Stella shivered, her small body pressed against the warm flank of her mother. The night was a vast, inky blanket, pricked with a thousand tiny, distant fires. It hummed with a thousand unfamiliar sounds – the rustle of unseen things in the undergrowth, the whisper of wind through the tall pines, the distant hoot of an owl that sounded like a question asked in the dark. These sounds, so alien and vast, made Stella’s fur prickle and her heart thump a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing for the sun, for the familiar warmth of daytime, for the comforting scent of pine needles and damp earth.

Beside her, her brothers, Barnaby and Pip, were already more adventurous. They tumbled and wrestled, their playful yips punctuated by the occasional snort of mock fury. They’d darted out from the den earlier, drawn by the fading light, their curiosity a potent force against their nascent fears. But Stella, the smallest of the litter, felt the darkness press in on her, a heavy, suffocating cloak.

Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the sky. It swooped and circled, a dark silhouette against the deepening twilight. A raven, its wings beating a steady rhythm, descended. With a soft ‘thump’ and a flurry of black feathers, it dropped a wriggling, silvery prize at the paws of the pups. Fish. Falling from the sky.