Thandekile inched closer to the fire and tucked her skirt under her. The night was crisp and a gentle breeze carried the hum of the singing beetles from the trees.

“Tell us a story, uGogo”, chirped her young grandson, Sipho, his dark eyes glistening in the light of the flames.

The wizened old woman poked the reluctant embers of the family fire till they erupted into a small blaze. Bright orange sparks spiralled upward into the dark night sky. A pale grey moth flitted in perilous darting spirals above the flames. Thandekile fingered the bead necklace around her throat and remembered countless times she had pleaded the same to her grandmother. So many stories she had heard; so many she had retold around the fire.

"Many seasons ago,” she began, “before the leopard was spotted, and when the hyena was still a beautiful creature with a voice like the songbird, there lived a bird-creature of great beauty. Its feathers were brightly coloured and its song a delight to the ears; its nest was the envy of all the basket-weavers and some say the Bantu people learned their craft from them. One spring when the veld was green, the chief of this bird-tribe and his woman-bird hatched two eggs. Other birds came with offerings of fat worms for the young chicks. They grew and though they were identical in appearance, their characters were opposite. One was content; the other never satisfied, constantly screeching to his parents to bring more insects to the nest.

"The spring rains came, and were followed by the scorching summer sun. The chicks grew and their plumage was the envy of the entire feathered kingdom. Their parents aged and returned to the dry earth and the time came when one of them was to be elected as chief of the bird-tribe. The first chick was quiet and polite, always greeting the other creatures and asking after their wellbeing, the second was proud and haughty, and made great show of his coloured wings and ability for song.

'Who is more fitting to rule than I?' he thought, 'Is there a creature as beautiful, or with so melodious a voice?'

Indeed he was right, but his nest-brother gained popularity with the other creatures and it soon became apparent that he would lose the kingdom to his brother’s gentler disposition. The proud chick was cunning and devised a plan.

Late one summer afternoon, the two were out together plucking insects from the long dry grass. Their food was sparse and the proud one was quick to take more than his share. As the shadows grew longer, the kind brother became weary for lack of sustenance and his sibling noticed his dwindling strength.

'Come let us fly to another place where the food is surely more abundant,' he said, 'there is hardly enough for one of us here let alone two. I know just the place'

His nest-brother was quick to agree, and they flew off together. In the distance, the grass crackled and spat and clouds of grey smoke billowed skywards in the wind that fanned a creeping veld fire. Ahead of the burn, insects hopped and skittered by the thousands to escape the inferno that chased them to their death.

'See how many insects are there for the taking!' the crafty bird said to his brother and motioned through the branches of the thorn tree to the ground below.

'I see them,' his brother gasped, 'but I too fear the flames. How can I gather them without suffering the death they try to escape?'

'Nonsense!' he replied, 'Are you not of the swift-of-wing, do you lack agility on the wind? Have you forgotten that we are royal blood of the finest of all feathered kind? I’ll show you!' He swooped down and plucked a fat grasshopper, and throwing his head back he swallowed it. 'See!' he laughed, 'There’s nothing to fear, and the grubs are fat and juicy.'

The gentle brother spread his wings and glided down toward the oncoming flames. The heat was intense and the bird gasped the seething air. He was exhausted but the promise of sustenance urged him on. He felt his strength leave him as the effort of fighting the rushing air became too great. The gentle bird succumbed to the fire and was burned to death.

The Creator, uMdali, looked down on the creature grinning slyly in the thorn tree and cursed him for his greed and envy: 'From this day onward you shall hatch as a worm, the lowliest of all creatures, you shall hide from the birds who seek to peck you from the ground for their food, and if you survive, you shall be transformed into a moth. Your flight will be clumsy, your wings dull both in flight and colour. No more will you be the envy of all feathered creatures. You shall be drawn to the light of the flames and there you shall die the death that you plotted for your brother.' "

Young Sipho glanced at the familiar cooking fire, and watched as a pale grey shape flitted in and out of the flames, and was no more.

“I saw the strangest thing last night.”

Karen hoped that the tone of her voice might pull Steve’s gaze away from his laptop.

“Hmm?” he murmured as he continued to scroll through an Internet search.

At least he responded, Karen thought. “I was sitting on the couch when I heard something. I got up to look out and saw this huge butterfly beating its wings against the glass.”

“It was a moth,” said Steve.

“How do you know it was a moth?” Karen insisted. “It wasn’t like you were there. You were in bed snoring. I saw it. It was a big beautiful green butterfly with long sweeping wings.”

“Butterflies don’t come out at night. It was a Luna moth,” Steve chided. He had yet to make eye contact with his wife.

It had been this way ever since the accident. Karen would stay up late sketching and Steve would fall asleep by nine. Although Karen usually made her way to bed, they hadn’t touched each other for weeks. At first it was because of the residual pain. But now it was just because they had fallen out of the habit.

Nevertheless, they were making a pretense of trying to get back to normal. Of course neither one of them would be returning to work in the immediate future. Their injuries had healed but they still needed time to adjust to their loss. So every day they tried to have breakfast together. It was more of an emotionless routine than a time to share.

That night, Steve had to get up to use the toilet. When he woke, he realized that Karen hadn’t come to bed. He made his way down the hall and noticed how quiet the house was. It wasn’t like it would have been noisy before; it was just the knowledge that it was so empty.

Steve found Karen sleeping on the couch. She had her arm raised over her eyes and her sketchbook had fallen to the floor. In the yellow glow of the lamp Steve read Karen’s graceful script – “Night Butterfly.”

“It’s a Luna moth,” Steve muttered under his breath. But at the same time he felt awed by the detail of Karen’s drawing. Being an architect of strip malls and service stations had honed his skills at rendering crisp lines and blocky forms. He no longer had the talent of producing such beautiful organic forms.

Steve wanted to bend down and kiss his wife, but was afraid he might wake her. Instead he just wandered back to bed.

The next morning Steve woke to the sounds of Karen emptying the dishwasher. She was being uncharacteristically loud.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked as he fumbled with the belt of his robe.

Karen just continued to slam drawers and clatter the plates. She didn’t even look at him.

“What?” Steve demanded. “What did I do?” He had one of those feelings he had when he realized he had forgotten an important occasion.

Karen pointed out the window and then continued with her boisterous straightening.

Steve leaned over the counter to get a better look. Directly under the porch light hung the tattered remains of a spider web. A silky bundle dangled from a single filament. Steve stared in silence as it swayed in the light breeze. As it twisted around, he noticed a protruding green wing.

His reverie was broken as Karen slammed the newspaper onto the table.

“Geez, Karen!” Steve snapped. “It’s just a moth. It’s not like it was your child!”

The silence that followed was as thick as a stone wall. And then, for the first time in weeks, their eyes met each other before they both began to sob.