The Capture. Kathryn Lasky
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from a nest?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“No!” Marella Alba gasped. “I have never heard of such a thing. It’s unspeakable.”
“I thought I must tell you in case we are blessed with another brood.”
“Oh, great Glaux,” his mother gasped. Soren’s eyes blinked wide. He had never heard his mother swear before. “But we so seldom leave the nest during broody times. Whoever it is must watch us.” She paused. “Watch us constantly.”
“Whoever it is can fly or climb,” Noctus Alba said darkly.
Soren felt a sense of dread seep into the hollow. How thankful he was that Eglantine had not been snatched while just an egg. He vowed he would never leave her alone.
It seemed to Soren that as soon as Eglantine ate her first insect she never stopped eating. His mother and father assured him that he had been the same. “And you still are, Soren! And it’s almost time for your first Fur-on-Meat ceremony!”
That was what life was like those first weeks in the nest – one ceremony after another. Each, it seemed in some way or another, led to the truly biggest, perhaps the most solemn yet joyous moment in a young owl’s life: First Flight.
“Fur!” whispered Soren. He couldn’t quite imagine what it was like. What it would feel like slipping down his throat. His mother always stripped off all the fur from the meat and then tore out the bones before offering the little tidbits of fresh mouse or squirrel to Soren. Kludd was almost ready for his First Bones ceremony when he would be allowed to eat “the whole bit” as Soren’s father said. And it was just before First Bones that a young owl began branching. And just after that, it would begin its first real flight under the watchful eyes of its parents.
“Hop! Hop! That’s it, Kludd! Now, up with the wings just as you begin the hop to that next branch. And remember, you are just branching now. No flying. And even after your first flight lessons, no flying by yourself until Mum and I say so.”
“Yes, Da!” Kludd said in a bored voice. Then he muttered, “How many times have I heard this lecture!”
Soren had heard it many many times too, even though he was nowhere near branching. The worst thing a young owl could do was to try to fly before it was ready. And, of course, young owls usually did this when their parents were out hunting. It was so tempting to try one’s newly fledged wings, but it would most likely end in a disastrous crash, leaving the little owlet nestless, perhaps badly injured, and on the ground exposed to dangerous predators. The lecture was brief this time, and the branching lesson resumed.
“Crisply! Crisply, boy! Keep the noise down. Owls are silent fliers.”
“But I’m not flying yet, Da! As you keep reminding me constantly! What’s it matter if I’m noisy now when I’m just branching?”
“Bad habit! Bad habit! Leads to noisy flight. Hard to outgrow noise habits started in branching.”
“Oh, bother!”
“Oh, I’ll bother you!” Noctus exploded, and gave his son a cuff on the head that nearly tipped him over. Soren had to admit that Kludd didn’t even whimper but just picked himself up and gave his da a glaring look and resumed hopping – slightly less noisily than before.
There was a series of soft short hisses from Mrs Plithiver. “Difficult one, that one! My! My! Glad your mum’s not here to see this. Eglantine!” Mrs Plithiver called out suddenly. Even though she was blind she seemed to know exactly what the young owlets were doing at any given moment. She now heard the crunch of a nest bug in Eglantine’s beak. “Put that nest bug down. Owls do not eat nest bugs. That’s what house snakes do. If you keep it up, you’ll just grow fat and squishy and won’t be prepared for your First Meat ceremony, and then no First Fur, and then no First Bones, and then no, well, you know what. Now your mum is just out looking for a nice chubby vole with soft fur for Soren’s First Fur ceremony. And she might even find a nice wriggly little centipede for you.”
“Ooh, they’re so much fun to eat!” Soren exclaimed. “All their little legs pittering down your gullet.”
“Oh, Soren, tell me that story about the first time you ate a centipede,” Eglantine begged.
Mrs Plithiver sighed softly. It was so sweet! Eglantine hung on every word of Soren’s. True sisterly love, and Soren loved her right back. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened with their older brother, Kludd. There was always one difficult one in a brood, but Kludd was more than just difficult. There was something … something … Mrs Plithiver thought hard. Just something missing with Kludd. Something rather unnatural, un-owlish.
“Sing the centipede song, Soren! Sing it!”
Soren opened his beak wide and began to sing:
What gives a wriggle
And makes you giggle
When you eat ’em?
Whose weensy little feet
Make my heart really beat?
Why, it’s those little creepy crawlies
That make me feel so jolly.
For the darling centipede
My favourite buggy feed
I always want some more.
That’s the insect I adore
More than beetles, more than crickets,
Which at times give me the hiccups.
I crave only to feed
On a juicy centipede
And I shall be happy forevermore.
Just as Soren finished the song, his mother flew into the hollow and dropped a vole at her feet. “A nice fat one, my dear. Enough for your First Fur ceremony and Kludd’s First Bones.”
“I want my own!” Kludd said.
“Nonsense, dear, you could never eat a whole vole.”
“Whole vole!” squeaked Eglantine. “Oh, Mum, it rhymes. I love rhymes.”
“I want one all for myself,” Kludd persisted.
“Now, look here, Kludd.” Marella fixed her son in a dark steady gaze. “We do not waste food around here. This is a very large vole. There is enough for you to have your First Bones ceremony, Soren to have his First Fur ceremony, and Eglantine to have her First Meat.”
“Meat! I get to eat meat!” Eglantine gave a little hop of excitement. She seemed to have forgotten all about the joys of centipedes.
“And so, Kludd, when you want a vole all of your own, you can just go out and hunt it for yourself! I spent most of the night tracking down this one. Food is scarce in Tyto this time of year. I’m exhausted.” A huge orange moon sailed in the autumn sky. It seemed to hover just above the great fir tree where Soren and his family lived, and it cast a soft glow in through the opening of the hollow. It was indeed a perfect night for the ceremonies which these owls loved and that marked their growth and the passage of time.
And so that night, just before the dawn, the three little owlets had their First Meat, First Fur and First Bone ceremonies. And Kludd yarped his first real pellet. It was the exact shape of his gizzard, which had pressed it into the tight little bundle of bones and fur. “Oh, that’s a fine pellet, son,” Kludd’s father said.
“Yes, indeed,” his mother agreed. “Quite admirable.” And Kludd, for once, seemed satisfied. And Mrs Plithiver thought privately to herself how no bird could be really bad that had such a noble