The dusk sky was gold, riveted with swaths of color, accented with thin, but fluffy clouds. While the sun set, Dodger decided to be up early, preening his feathers and blinking against the light. It really was beautiful, if he had anything to say about it. These colors never seemed to present themselves at night-time, when they were out and about, fighting and practicing, moving about from chaw to chaw.
A nervousness settled in his gizzard as he neatly folded his spotted wings in and let out a soft hoot of uncertainty. Chaws. Here at the Great Tree, each owl had their own particular calling, something different in terms of skill. Over the course of their younger lives, they moved from chaw to chaw and tried, well, everything. Tracking, search and rescue, navigation, weather and colliering, battle, healing... It was all here.
Once their general training was over however, each owlet was "tapped", or chosen among the teachers, or rybs, for whatever skill the ryb felt they were best suited for. Gratefully, he quelled his gizzard's churning with the knowledge that he most definitely was not going to be tapped for Ga'Hoology chaw. Honestly, Dodger couldn't quite get the hang of anything in that boring old class, where all they did was talk about the past and how to bury pellets. Besides, a young Ptilopsis Leucotis named Slint has had her eye on that since, well, ever.
Feathers stirred the air above Dodger, and looking up, he saw a small Screech owl named Ingens alighting on the branch just above his own head, "Had an early first black?"
Dodger himself was an Asio Flammeus, or a Short Eared Owl;he had a dark mask across his eyes that made his stark yellow eyes really stand out, like rings of gold against rich mahogany wood.
"Been up for barely an hour," he admitted, tilting his head slightly as he reflected the question, "You're up fairly early too, couldn't sleep?"
"Oh, you know how it is the day before tapping begins. Besides, I want to fly up to Bellum's chaw practice point and bring a milkberry tart or two, maybe she'll favor me," the smaller screech shrugged his shoulders a bit, "I really want to be first pick for battle chaw."
This much, Dodger knew. It seemed to be all his friend could talk about these past few moons.
The sun had finally dipped halfway below the horizon before the nest-maid snakes started winding their way through the branches to help Cook with preparing the meal, and further serving it to all of the owls at the Great Tree.
"I better go, if I want to catch those tarts warm," Ingens gave a smile and in a few strong wing strokes, was gliding down between the branches of the tree, leaving the sleeping hollows. Deciding to shake off his own nerves by going for a short flight, Dodger opened his wings and softly wheeled around the trunk of the tree where the downy sleeping hollows were, and strayed between the branches, letting his mind and gizzard idle.
The air did, in fact, clear his mind. Watching everyone else stir, he glanced out at the glittering sea. By now, the moon was rising, cascading silver dancing slivers across the surface. Wind shifted and shaped itself under his wings, filling his feathers almost soothingly as he drifted down to meet the other owlets and chaws settling in for break light. Warm porridge was being served, steaming against the cool night sky.
"Hey Dodger, heard anything from any of the rybs? I think Arboryb might be wanting me in his chaw, he made a passing comment, but... I don't know, I don't think I'm very cut out for Navigation," a same-sized Brown Fish owl named Caedes landed messily on the large root that Dodger had just set claw on.
"Not really," he gave a light chuckle, glad that the simple conversation was there to distract him from his own thoughts, "But I can tell you one thing you won't be in, that's battle chaw!"
"Oh, shove off, I dove too fast before landing, alright?" Caedes shoved him with the shoulder of her wing, head twisting to pluck a stray feather from her back before righting again, "Besides, today's a great night to get out and enjoy this Hoolian air!"
The banter was cut short, though, as they were each assigned their chaws for the night and nervous chatter and clicks could be heard. Today, he was stuck with Bellumryb and the battle chaw, her second in command being Cimex, a sturdy screech with years of battle under his talons. The work was hard, and at times it could be fun, but Dodger didn't understand exactly why anyone would want to be a part of a chaw that stretched them to the limit, physically, each and every day, and left his wings and talons sore.
"Dive!" Bellum shouted, quickly snapping him from his thoughts. It was too late, though, and a staff of plain wood struck his wing hard, leaving pain to blossom outwards.
"Sorry! Didn't mean to hit that hard, I thought you would have moved!" Ingens gave a sheepish hoot, looking over his wing to see if Bellum had seen the perfect strike. She had, and gave a nod, "Alright you two, circle up and disarm, it's Red and Dusk's turns."
Alighting on the thick, winding bark, he stretched his wing a few times with a soft sigh of pained relief at giving it a rest. She was having them practice basics harder than ever now, and he wasn't sure he could keep up this diving, swooping, striking, clawing... He just couldn't focus like he needed to. It wasn't too long before his attention slipped and he found himself down and out. It wasn't new, so he didn't understand why she kept pushing him so hard when, in fact, nothing could be pushed. Tossing the light, fake battle claws aside, he turned and met Ingens as he landed beside him.
"I really thought you would have moved, is your wing okay?" The smaller owl asked, dropping the stick he had held aloft.
"I'm fine, at worst, it might bruise up and become sore. Nothing I'm not used to." Especially with Bellum teaching this chaw.
Before Ingens could hardly open his beak, from somewhere far off, a loud, shrill screech rang through the trees.
"Downed owlets!"
Now, this had particularly ruffled his feathers. Even when they had brought him in as a young owlet, there certainly wasn't all of this commotion, and not so urgent a note in his voice. Given that Dodger was for the most part well, that could only mean that these small things would have to be seriously injured if not near death. Without another word, he dove past the edge and unfurled his wings, beating them in sweeping arcs to gain wind towards the landing platform, not pausing for Ingens to catch up.
Not like he had to, the smaller owl shot by and they eventually landed on the edge of the expanse of root, sweeping vines aside. The search and rescue team had landed just before them. Now, he could see why there was sch an urgent edge to the chaw member's voice.
Blood. Not the kind of accidental scrape or cut from cleaning battle claws wrong, but the kind that was intended to spill. To kill.
Great Glaux! The claws on that thing, they would have to be massive...
Dodger was not, in fact, ready for the sickening sight that would reveal itself when a Healer lifted one of the owlets from the tightly woven grass basket, stained red.
One of its wings is gone!
Immediately, this set his gizzard churning against his will, and he had to swallow to keep his breakfast down. The blood had stemmed from the stump that was previously the owlet's right wing, slicking the downy grey feathers. Its face seemed to have survived another attack, only a thin scratch combing across the bridge above its beak.
"Oh, Glaux, what have they done..." Ingens hooted softly. The rest of the search and rescue chaw had arrived from training, and even the older owls's wings drooped and sagged in apparent horror.
"They said they picked the owlets up from the Beaks. Turns out there was a small band of owls they had to fight too. Big, ragged battle claws... they brought a few pairs back, and they looked... horrible, just horrible. Who could have made claws like that, Dodger?" Caedes asked quietly from behind him. Truth was, he had no clue.
"I dunno, Caedes, I just," he paused, clicking his beak impatiently for an answer, a word, something that could replace his friends worry with fear, "I don't know. Something doesn't feel right here, my gizzard isn't liking this..."
"That makes two of us," she shook her head in response.
It's been ages since the end of the Battle of the Ice Claws, surely, the Pure Ones couldn't have done this? It's been too long, far too long, for anybody to have decided to take action now. So who are they?
Silently, they watched the two other owlets be lifted from the basket in careful talons, and this time, he couldn't keep the horror from invading every inch of his mind. This time, he retched.
One owlet's entire foot was missing, soaked in less blood, but considerably wrong for any animal to be missing their own foot. The second was brought out and was even further disfigured than the one with a missing wing. This time, the bloodbath hadn't stopped at one. This time, both wings had been torn clean off.
Gasping for air, Dodger dove off of the platform and took to his wings, desperately trying to rid his mind with the image of the owlets.
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