GreenTown had existed for more than a century. It was founded in the 1910s, during a time when the country’s economic prosperity drove many to leave the city behind in search of a life closer to nature. In those years, the countryside was seen as a refuge—a dream attainable for those who longed to live off the land, far from the smoke and noise of big cities.


    Over time, many of these villages grew into small towns or became absorbed by large metropolises. Others simply disappeared, abandoned and reclaimed by the very nature they once promised to respect. GreenTown, however, was caught between these two fates. It survived, but without fully modernizing.


    This was hardly surprising, considering most of its inhabitants were descendants of the peasants who had founded it. From the very beginning, the vision was clear: to build a home for both rural and urban folks who sought to embrace nature rather than conquer it. Life in GreenTown always felt disconnected from the rest of the world’s progress.


    The town was born on the banks of a mighty river that, back then, marked the boundary between civilization and the wild. The first houses were built along its shores, constructed of wood and stone. Over the years, the town expanded towards the nearby hills and mountains, yet it never lost that rural essence. Even today, walking upstream can lead one to the ruins of old structures that nature has long reclaimed. There, among rubble and roots, lies the true origin of GreenTown.


    As with any community, time brought growth. The arrival of the railway forever changed the town’s dynamic. The tracks connected GreenTown with other villages and cities, facilitating the flow of people, ideas, and customs. With this also came tensions.


    The town’s elders—those who remembered the original purpose of GreenTown—viewed modernization with skepticism. To them, every new meter of track, every brick laid, was a reminder that their refuge was slipping away. The mayor of that time saw things differently. He promised progress and delivered it, but at a high cost. Machines arrived, cement covered the earth, and over time, the dream of coexisting with nature began to fade.


    It wasn’t only humans who felt the impact. The forest animals started to reclaim their ancient territories, the very ones that man had dared to conquer. Where nature once reigned, cement now poured in, leaving behind only memories of what had been. Even the animals, which had lived in the town for generations, sensed the change. The tranquility was replaced by the noise and bustle of a city they had never dreamed of becoming.


    Yet there was one group that never raised their voice or showed any sign of discontent: the birds. Always watching from above, they remained utterly silent. They never spoke in favor of or against what was happening. That silence was a mystery to everyone, even to one of the oldest animals in town, Sergeant Wilson.


    Wilson was a Siamese cat crossed with a Burmese, with grayish fur and a penetrating gaze. He had been born and raised in GreenTown, and for as long as he could remember, the birds had never uttered a single word—not a song different from their own, nor a greeting, nor a complaint.


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    He even remembered asking his father about it when he was just a kitten.


    —“Father, why don’t the birds talk like we do? Why don’t they speak to anyone?” he had asked with the innate curiosity of a young cat.


    The old Siamese had paused for a few seconds before answering.


    —“I don’t know, son. Ever since I was born, it’s always been that way. My father and his father before him never heard a single word from those winged creatures.”


    It was a simple answer, yet it was enough to soothe young Wilson’s curiosity. Still, the memory of that conversation would return to him at the most unexpected moments.


    But Wilson didn’t have time to linger on thoughts of the past. Now, as an officer of the law, he had a job to do. He was on the trail of the killer of the Herdson family, a well-known family in town. The crime had shaken the entire community, and everyone was demanding answers.


    His first step was to visit Chop, a Great Dane who lived a few blocks from the Herdson residence. Given his size and keen sense of smell, Chop should have seen or heard something.


    “Chop, are you home? It’s been a while since we talked, old friend,” Wilson called from the entrance of the house.


    There was no answer but silence. It was odd. Despite his size, Chop was notorious for being a coward. He barely ventured out when his owner, Mrs. Miller, took him for a walk. And he rarely failed to respond when called.


    Wilson hesitated for a moment, but then he remembered his duty. As an officer of the law, he had every right to enter if he suspected something was amiss.


    He pushed the door open and stepped inside.


    “Chop, don’t tell me you hid on the couch again,” Wilson joked, even though no one was around to hear him.


    The surprise was less than he had expected. There, in a small handwoven bed made by Mrs. Miller, lay Chop, sound asleep. Wilson always found it ridiculous that such a large dog had such a tiny bed, as if his owner had forgotten the true size of her pet.


    He approached and brushed his tail against Chop’s face to wake him up.


    “Wake up, Chop. I was just about to call a mouse to come wake you up,” he said sarcastically.


    “A mouse? Where?” Chop leaped up, visibly frightened. “If Mrs. Miller sees me running from a rat again, she’ll take away my dessert!”


    “Relax, it was just a joke. But now that you’re awake... I need you to tell me if you’ve seen, smelled, or heard anything unusual lately.”


    Chop took his time. He scratched his ear thoughtfully.


    “Wilson... you know those things scare me. I’d die if I dreamed of mice.”


    “Focus, Chop. This is important.”


    The Great Dane sighed.


    “Well... strange, strange... Last night I dreamed I was a bird, flying. Can you imagine? Me, flying. It was the first time I ever dreamed such a thing.”


    Wilson huffed, losing his patience.


    “Chop, I’m talking about real events. Did you see any stranger? Or any unusual creature around here?”


    “No, no, no... If I had seen anything like that, I’d already be hiding. You know how I am.”


    “I thought so. You’re even more cowardly than I remembered. In the end, you’ll be afraid of your own shadow. But listen: if you see, hear, or smell anything, get to the police station immediately. Understood?”


    “Understood, Wilson...”


    The conversation seemed to end there. But just as Wilson turned to leave, Chop paled. His eyes locked on the window and, without saying another word, he bolted to hide under the couch.


    “A rat with wings!” he shrieked in terror.


    Wilson frowned and looked toward where the dog had pointed. At the window, a strange bird was watching them intently. He wasn’t sure how long it had been there, but its presence unsettled him.


    When the bird noticed that Wilson had seen it, it took off into the sky and vanished.


    Without hesitation, Wilson chased after it. Something in his gut told him that this creature knew more than it appeared. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was about to find the very first real clue in the case.