Cat on a roof
It was almost dark in the somber backyard where Atreyu lay beside the dead werewolf. The luckdragon was barely able to distinguish the boy’s light-colored body from the monster’s black coat. And the darker it grew, the more they looked like one body.
Atreyu had long given up trying to break loose from the steel vise of the werewolf’s jaws. Dazed with fear and weakness, he was back in the Grass Ocean. Before him stood the purple buffalo he had not killed. He called to the other children, his companions of the hunt, who by then had no doubt become real hunters. But no one answered. Only the giant buffalo stood there motionless, looking at him. Atreyu called Artax, his horse, but he didn’t come, and his cheery neigh was nowhere to be heard. He called the Childlike Empress, but in vain. He wouldn’t be able to tell her anything. He hadn’t become a hunter, and he was no longer a messenger. He was Nobody.