The glowing saber was sent skyward. A newborn sword- A blazing wand- A dry stick- Spun shortly and pathetically yet caught all eyes for some endless seconds. Each splitting ridge and twisting splinter glowed against an empty sky, shooting off fading star-like embers. The cap- The splitting end- Blazed orange and grey from rustling within the fire- Left smooth dry rivers of orange trailing it as it arced through the air. 

It was rather absurd. It was nothing more than a tool of play, really. In the fires early kindling it had served him well as a tool. Each nipped spark finding its home, rolled into denser bundles of tinder through its guidance. Logs rolled and wrestled till even the living ones relented with great puffs of smoke and a crackling ashen cough. It was matured, it could be left alone, but he kept on poking. As Tracker was forced to show off his work and Ruach stared into the night, he kept jostling. He poked and prodded and let silly sparks dash about the air. It was a sword, it was a wand, it was a toy. It was a weapon arcing through the air. It hit Ruach in his chest.

And he had yelped.

It was sharp, not particularly loud, but enough to rise above the night without waking it. Chittering bugs and tired wings still flapped and buzzed, but the group fell into an oppressive silence. He slowly flipped his paw back and forth over his chest, a black spot blipping in and out of the view of the others. There was the faint scent of singed hair. He was silent once more.