The Capture

and muttered, "So alone, so alone."

    And yet, deep inside him something flickered like a tiny smoldering spark of hope. When he had fallen, he must have done something with his nearly bald wings that "had captured the air" as his father would say. He tried now to recall that feeling. For a brief instant, falling had actually felt wonderful. Could he perhaps recapture that air? He tried to lift his wings and flutter them slightly. Nothing. His wings felt cold and bare in the crisp autumn breeze. He looked at the tree again. Could he climb, using his talons and beak? He had to do something fast or he would become some creatures next meal -- a rat, a raccoon.

    Soren felt faint at the very thought of a raccoon. He had seen them from the nest -- bushy, masked, horrible creatures with sharp teeth. He must listen carefully. He must turn and tip his head as his parents had taught him. His parents could listen so carefully that, from high above in their tree hollow, they could hear the heartbeat of a mouse on the forest floor below. Surely he should be able to hear a raccoon. He cocked his head and nearly jumped. He did hear a sound. It was a small, raspy, familiar voice from high up in the fir tree. "Soren! Soren!" it called from the hollow where his brother and sister still nestled in the fluffy pure white down that their parents had plucked from beneath their flight feathers. But it was neither Kludd nor Eglantine.

    "Mrs. Plithiver!" Soren cried.

    "Soren ... are you ... are you alive? Oh, dear, of course you are if you can say my name. How stupid of me. Are you well? Did you break anything?"

    "I don't think so, but how will I ever get back up there?"

    "Oh, dear! Oh, dear," Mrs. Plithiver moaned. She was not much good in a crisis. One could not expect such things of nest-maids, Soren supposed.

    "How long until Mum and Da get home?" Soren called up.

    "Oh, it could be a long while, dearie."

    Soren had hop-stepped to the roots of the tree that ran above the ground like gnarled talons. He could now see Mrs. Plithiver, her small head with its glistening rosy scales hovering over the edge of the hollow. Where Mrs. Plithiver's eyes should have been there were two small indentations. "This is simply beyond me." She sighed. "Is Kludd awake? Maybe he could help me." There was a long pause before Mrs. Plithiver answered weakly, "Well, perhaps." She sounded hesitant. Soren could hear her now, nudging Kludd. "Don't be grumpy, Kludd. Your brother has ... has ... taken a tumble, as it were.

    Soren heard his brother yawn. "Oh, my." Kludd sighed and didn't sound especially upset, Soren thought.
    Soon the large head of his big brother peered over the edge of the hollow. His white heart-shaped face with the immense dark eyes peered down on Soren. "I say," Kludd drawled. "You've got yourself in a terrible fix."

    "I know, Kludd. Can't you help? You know more about flying than I do. Can't you teach me?"

    "Me teach you? I wouldn't know where to begin. Have you gone yoicks?" He laughed. "Stark-raving yoicks. Me teach you?" He laughed again. There was a sneer embedded deep within the laugh.

    "I'm not yoicks. But you're always telling me how
    much you know, Kludd." This was certainly the truth. Kludd had been bragging about his superiority ever since Soren had hatched out. He should get the favorite spot in the hollow because he was already losing his downy fluff in preparation for his flight feathers and therefore would be colder. He deserved the largest hunks of mouse meat because he, after all, was on the brink of flying. "You've already had your First Flight ceremony. Tell me how to fly, Kludd."

    "One cannot tell another how to fly. It's a feeling, and besides, it is really a job for Mum and Da. It would be very impertinent of me to usurp their position."

    Soren had no idea what "usurp" meant. Kludd often used big words to impress him.

    "What are you talking about? Usurp?" Sounded like "yarp" to Soren. But what would yarping have to do with teaching him to fly? Time was running out. The light was leaking out of the day's end and the evening shadows were falling. The raccoons would soon be out.

    "I can't do it, Soren," Kludd replied in a very serious voice. "It would be extremely improper for a young owlet like myself to assume this role in your life."

    "My life isn't going to be worth two pellets if you don't do something. Don't you think it is improper for you to let me die? What will Mum and Da say to that?"

    "I think they