Night Owl

“Good hunting, my friend,” the Trogladite chuckled as the Owl swooped past, holding a limp rat in its talons.

The Trogladite was roasting a Rattling over an open fire.

“Nothing tastes quite as good as a roasted Rattling after a good battle,” said the beast.

The Owl was not thinking of roasting anything. The Owl only wanted to get back home and enjoy the warm flesh before a long rest.

Times were hard. Humans and Troglodites battled for control of the midlands, causing many to flee.

“Why couldn’t they kill each other off and leave us woodlanders alone?” chirped the bird.

The Owl slipped past the human encampment on his way to the river.

“Trogs leave us alone at least. Humans are always shooting their bolts at anything that flies. They’re fools and will kill us all,” thought the bird.

Ahead lay his tree. At its peak, the Owl kept his home.

Pumping his wings, the Owl finished his journey.

“Home again, home again, jiggety-jig,” said the Owl as he entered.

“Papa, you’re back with a rat,” cried the two owlets.

“Now don’t eat too fast or you’ll get collywobbles,” cautioned the Owl.

Tearing a large strip for himself, the Owl waddled out on a limb.

“Fire again. Burning the forest will only enrage the beasts,” muttered the bird.

In the distance, screams and roars echoed, meaning the Owl wouldn’t get a good night’s rest.

“As soon as the twins can fly, we head north. Such a pity to leave this forest,” the Owl said.

Closing his eyes, the Owl attempted to catch forty winks before the battle grew closer. Then no one would sleep.

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