The sprites had taken them, grasped them: they were about to drag the cubs into the abyss. Why? Pinch and the other couldn’t touch their companions or they would be absorbed too. Half of his companions were sacrificed there, the sprites descended into the abyss and then they disappeared, in order to reappear somewhere else. Pinch just stood there and look at the cold rock of the crevice, where the Forest, maternal and lethal,simply stopped to exist.
He came back home with the others, and looking into the very eyes of the adults, he realized they always had known what would have happened in that outrageous night. From the very first day, everything was back to normal. In silence, nothing of what happened ever existed, in silence explanations were not needed. Silence was their defence. His people was right.
Years after, Pinch was haunting when he found a group of foreign creatures, camped in his Forest. Hiding in the shadows, he carefully listened them talking, they seemed not knowing each other for a long time, and as the night fell, he made his approach. His feline eyes drank greedily the lights of the embers reflected on the shining stones of the stirrups and on the sharp metal of the weapons. One of the warriors came back from his night patrol and Pinch was already waiting for him on a tree, swinging on a branch, with his fragile staff bet ween his paws. He put his finger on his little muzzle, as whispering was needed,and said: “Tell me, who are you?”