The Capture

while Gylfie was still on moss-tending duty. Soren requested permission to help his friend deliver moss, which was granted, as there were still shortages in both the hatchery and the eggorium. Together, the two owls made their way up to the distant outcropping where Hortense sat this evening on a large nest with at least eight eggs in it.

    "Phew!" Soren sighed. "Some hike up here." "Nothing to it." Gylfie hopped along. "You get used to it. All right, now, you know the drill. You begin."

    It was Soren who had thought of the opening words -- or word. The opening word was a name:
    "Hortense." And the speech was simple.

    They were now approaching the top of the outcrop. The wind was strong. Indeed, it was the first time that Soren had felt the wind since he had arrived at St. Aggie's. Silvery dark clouds raced against the sky.
    This was where owls belonged -- up high with the wind and the sky and the stars that swirled in the night. He felt invigorated and confident.

    "Welcome 25-2 and 12-1 to my humble abode."

    Soren dropped the moss from his beak onto the nest, and Hortense began tucking it into the niches and gaps. "Hortense!"

    Hortense looked up and blinked at him. Her yellow eyes thickened with the moon-blink gaze.

    "Hortense, this is not humble, this is where owls belong -- high, near the wind, near the sky, close to the heartbeat of the night." Amazing, Gylfie thought. Soren might not know the word "revolution" but this owl could talk. "Hortense, you are an owl, a Spotted Owl."

    "I am number 12-8."

    "No you're not, Hortense," Soren said, and this was Gylfie's cue.

    "Hortense, cut the pellets. You are Hortense and I saw you acting not as 12-8 but as Hortense, the brave, imaginative Spotted Owl. I saw you deliver an egg from this nest to an eagle."

    At that moment, Hortense blinked again and the daze lifted from her eyes, simply evaporated like fog on a sunny day. "You saw?"

    "I saw, Hortense," Gylfie said gently. "You are no more moon blinked than we are."

    "I had my suspicions about you two," Hortense said softly. Her eyes seemed to lose their brittle stare.
    Indeed, Soren thought they were the loveliest owl eyes he had ever seen. Deep brown like the still pool in the forest that he had seen from his family's nest in the fir tree. But there was also a kind of flickering light in them. Speckles of white dotted the crown of her head and her entire body seemed dappled in shades of amber and brown, shot through with spots of white like blurry stars.

    "We never suspected you," Soren added quickly "That is, until Gylfie saw you that night."

    "Are there any other owls here that are un-moon blinked?" Gylfie asked.

    "We're the only three, I think."

    "How did you get here? How did you resist moon blinking?"

    "It's a long story how I got here. And, as to how I resisted moon blinking, well, I'm not sure. You see, where I come from there is a stream, and the flecks that they pick from pellets run heavily in that stream."

    "What are the flecks?" Gylfie asked.

    "I'm not sure of that, either. They can be found in rocks and soil and water. They seem to occur everywhere, but in our part of the Kingdom of Ambala there is a large deposit that runs through the creeks and rivers. It is both a blessing and a curse. Some of us have unusual powers because of the flecks, we think, but for others it disrupts their navigational abilities to fly true courses. I had a grandmother who eventually lost her wits entirely, but before that she hatched my father, who could see through rock."

    "What? Impossible!"

    "No, it's true, yet my brother went blind at an early age. So one never knew how it might affect them. I think in my case it perhaps made me resistant to moon blinking. But that doesn't explain how I got here.
    It was no accident. I chose to come."

    "You chose to come?" Gylfie and Soren both gasped.

    "I told you it's a long story."

    "I'm on break," Soren said.

    "And they're short on monitors. I won't be missed," Gylfie added.

    "Well, first of all, I am much older than I appear. I am a fully mature owl."

    "What?!" Soren and Gylfie both said with complete disbelief.

    "Yes, it's true. I hatched almost four years ago."

    "Four years ago!" Soren said.

    "Yes, indeed, but perhaps one of the effects of the flecks on me was that I was always small, small as an owlet, and never really grew to be much bigger than owlet size. My feathers were delayed coming in, and, of course, I have further delayed them." At this point,