Part 4 – The Night Watch
The stars hung low that night, like someone had bent the sky closer just to listen.
Lorraine didn’t sleep much. She left her bedroom window open, curtain tied back, one lamp glowing in case Eli woke frightened. But he didn’t. Neither did Blue. The little kitten had crawled into the sleeping bag’s fold beside the boy’s ribs, his head peeking out just enough to watch the rise and fall of Eli’s chest.
And Toby—he hadn’t barked again.
That single sound, just after dusk, had been his last word.
Lorraine had whispered a prayer when she heard it. Not a formal one, but the kind she’d said into coat collars and cups of tea for the past few years. The kind only God and animals seemed to understand.
Outside, the Council kept their vigil.
Smokey remained by the bench, still lying down, which was strange in itself. His breathing was slow, his eyes half-lidded. Horses didn’t usually stay still for long stretches, not unless something was very wrong—or very right.
Petal perched on the top slat of the bench, balanced on one foot like a dancer at rest. She didn’t peck or mutter or complain. Her usual fussy rhythms had softened. Even the way she breathed seemed different. Slower. More careful.
Around 3 a.m., the wind kicked up.
A cold one, from the east.
It rustled the tarp above Eli’s head, made the lantern flicker on the porch, and stirred the leaves around Toby’s paws.
Lorraine stepped onto the porch with a blanket around her shoulders and a thermos of warm broth. She didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching.
The boy shifted in his sleep, murmured something—not a word, just the sound of comfort turning over.
The pony’s tail flicked once. Petal adjusted her weight, feathers tight against her body.
And Toby didn’t move.
His chest still rose. Barely. But enough to hold the silence together.
Lorraine stared at the dark line of trees just beyond the fence. Years ago, she and her husband had considered cutting them down to make room for a proper garden expansion. Toby had been just a pup, running through the undergrowth like a wildfire.
They never cut the trees.
Too much life there. Too many birds, too many memories caught in the bark.
She tightened the blanket around her and whispered, “You’re still with me, aren’t you?”
She wasn’t sure if she meant Toby… or her husband.
Both, maybe.
—
Dawn broke slow.
The sky didn’t blaze. It barely hinted. Just a quiet easing into blue.
A squirrel skittered across the fence, pausing when it spotted the animals below. It didn’t chatter. Just watched, then disappeared.
Eli was already awake, sitting up, blanket wrapped around him like armor.
“I didn’t sleep much,” he said, voice hoarse.
“You stayed,” Lorraine replied.
“Wasn’t hard.”
Blue stirred beside him, gave a squeaky meow, and batted lazily at a falling leaf.
Lorraine stepped down into the yard.
Toby was still lying there, same spot, eyes closed.
She knelt beside him.
Placed two fingers just above his ribs.
Still warm. Still breathing.
But slower than before.
She sat down beside him, her body leaning gently against his. Petal dropped down from the bench to sit beside her boot. Smokey stood now, but didn’t move away—he simply turned so his side touched the end of the bench.
And the four of them sat like that: woman, boy, pony, duck.
Waiting.
—
By midmorning, word spread.
First through wind. Then through feather and fur.
A crow landed on the chimney.
The neighbor’s old tabby—one Lorraine hadn’t seen in months—appeared along the garden path and lay in the sun like she’d never left.
Two squirrels stopped mid-chase and perched on the fence.
Even the mourning doves, who usually kept to themselves, arrived one by one on the power line above the yard.
Lorraine didn’t notice them all at once.
But by the time she stood to stretch her legs, she realized the bench and the world around it were full—watching, waiting.
Eli stood too.
“Why are they here?” he asked.
“Same reason we are,” Lorraine said.
“Which is?”
She placed her hand on Toby’s back again.
“To make sure he doesn’t go alone.”
—
By noon, Toby stirred.
Only barely.
One paw twitched, the tail gave a weak thump.
Lorraine leaned close, brushed the fur behind his ear.
“You’re okay, sweetheart,” she whispered. “We’re all here.”
Toby didn’t open his eyes. But he made a sound—softer than a sigh, more like a memory being let go.
Then, for the last time, his chest rose.
And didn’t fall again.
The world didn’t move.
No wind.
No sound.
Even Blue stilled.
Lorraine closed her eyes and let the silence have its moment. The hush that comes after a life leaves a body but before the heart believes it’s true.
Eli was crying quietly. He didn’t hide it. Lorraine didn’t stop him.
Petal stepped forward and laid her beak across Toby’s nose. Just a second.
Then backed away.
Smokey let out a deep breath.
And turned his gaze toward the field.
Lorraine wiped her eyes, placed one hand on Toby’s flank, and whispered, “Thank you.”
She wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for.
Everything, maybe.