The Capture Read Free

true story or what, Da?" "It's a legend, Kludd," his father answered. "But is it true?" Kludd whined. "I only like true stories." "A legend, Kludd, is a story that you begin to feel in your gizzard and then over time it becomes true in your heart. And perhaps makes you become a better owl."

CHAPTER TWO

    A Life Worth Two Pellets

    True in your heart! Those words in the deep throaty hoot of his father were perhaps the last thing Soren remembered before he landed with a soft thud on a pile of moss. Shaking himself and feeling a bit dazed, he tried to stand up. Nothing seemed broken. But how had this happened? He certainly had not tried flying while his parents were out hunting. Good Glaux. He hadn't even tried branching yet. He was still far from "flight readiness" as his mum called it. So how had this happened? All he knew was, one moment he was near the edge of the hollow, peering out, looking for his mum and da to come home from hunting, and the next minute he was tumbling through the air.

    Soren tipped his head up. The fir tree was so tall, and he knew that their hollow was near the very top.
    What had his father said -- ninety feet, one hundred feet? But numbers had no meaning for Soren. Not only could he not fly, he couldn't count, either. Didn't really know his numbers. But there was one thing that he did know: He was in trouble -- deep, frightening, horrifying trouble. The boring lectures that Kludd had complained about came back to him. The weight of the terrible truth now pressed upon him in the darkness of the forest -- those grim words, "an owlet that is separated from its parents before it has learned to fly and hunt cannot survive."

    And Soren's parents were gone, gone on a long hunting flight. There had not been many since Eglantine had hatched out. But they needed more food, for winter was coming. So right now Soren was completely alone. He could not imagine being more completely alone as he gazed up at the tree that seemed to vanish into the clouds. He sighed 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