“I wish they wouldn’t run. It’s rather tiring. Where do the cretins think they can go?” muttered the owl as she lined up for the attack.
The impact broke the mole’s back, and its life soon ebbed away.
“A lottery could be arranged amongst themselves. The loser would stand on the arch, and I would swing by and grab dinner. So much more reasonable,” the owl said.
Isen had spent her youth in the mountains hunting hare and groundlings. When the frost giants came, the owls were seen as the Goddess’s messengers and so were hunted down.
“I miss the mountains, and for the life of me wish those monsters would have left well enough alone. We owls are not busybodies,” remarked the owl.
After a quick meal, Isen hopped off the limb and resumed the hunt.
“Time to get dinner for the boys,” said Isen.
Silently, the owl swept through the forest until her eyes caught sight of a foolish mouse out for a snack.
“Well, my little friend, why don’t you come for dinner? I’m sure the boys will love you,” said the owl.
Down the bird swooped, and then she struck the ground.
“Missed. That doesn’t happen often,” Isen said.
The mouse slipped under a log and into its underground home.
“The mountains were so much easier. Best get dinner, or the boys will be angry at me,” Isen said.
After dropping off a vole for the boys, Isen circled high into the mountains. “I miss the air, so clean and cold.”
Dawn broke in the east, and Isen glided back to the woods and her hole-in-a-tree home.
“This is no place for a mountainous snowbird,” remarked the owl. Soon the owl slept and dreamt of frosty air and icy peaks.
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