The air was deathly still. Not a bird dared to chirp, not a fox dared to venture forth from its den. No squirrels scampered among the trees; even the rustle of leaves remained absent in the windless atmosphere. Mosquitoes buzzed and crickets provided a steady drone—steady, present, but unchanging.

Leaves rustled. A pair of white-furred ears perked up, swiveling around to sense the cause of the disturbance. But the air became deathly still again. A pink nosed sniffed the air tentatively. It twitched, cautiously testing the atmosphere. But the air was deathly still again.

The crickets ceased chirping. It glanced around fearfully, its eyes scouting frantically for a sign of danger. The air remained calm—too calm, like the eye of a hurricane. The air remained oppressive. It pressed down on those that stood on the forest floor. It weighed down on what stood on the forest floor. It was like a graveyard. It waited for another occupant.

Its eyes widened. The moment of realization struck. A flash of orange, a flash of black stripes struck with a frenzy of movement, disturbing the air pressed down heavily on it all screamed in pain clouded its mind and a voice cried out to quell its pain roared like what ate it alive but dead and living in the oppressive atmosphere with deathly still air no longer it ended.

The air was still again.