The Capture. Kathryn Lasky
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But in this case he wasn’t “tasting” the sweet grass the meadow mouse had feasted on. He was tasting dread.
Soren was not sure how long it was before the alarm sounded but it was soon time for his first sleep march. Repeating his name over and over, he followed the owls in his group and now moved into the shadow under the overhang of the arch. “Ah,” Soren sighed. The stabbing feeling in his skull ceased. His gizzard grew still. And Soren became more alert, the proper state for an owl who lived in the night. He looked about him. The little Spotted Owl named Hortense stood next to him. “Hortense?” Soren said. She stared at him blankly and began tapping her feet as if to move.
A sleep monitor swooped down. “Whatcha marching in place for, 12-8? Assume the sleeping position.”
Hortense immediately tipped her beak up, her head slightly back, but there was no moon to shine down upon it in the shadow of the rock. Soren, also in the sleep position, slid his eyes towards her. Curious, he thought. She responded to her number name but not her old name, except to move her feet. Still unable to sleep in this newfangled position, Soren twisted his head about to survey the stone arch. Through the other side of the arch, he caught sight of Gylfie, but too late. The alarm sounded, a high, piercing shriek. Before he knew it, he was being pushed along as thousands of owls began to move. Within seconds, there was an indescribable babble as each owl repeated its old name over and over again.
It became clear to Soren that they were following the path of the moon around the glaucidium. There were, however, so many owls that they could not all be herded under the full shine of the moon at the same time. Therefore, some were allowed an interval under the overhang of the rock arch. Perhaps he and Gylfie, since they had ended up before at the arch at the same time, could meet there again. He was determined to get close to Gylfie the next time.
But that would take three more times. Three more times of blathering his name into the moonlit night. Three more times of feeling the terrible twinge in his gizzard. “12-1, tip that beak up!” It was a sleep monitor. He felt a thwack to the side of his head. Hortense was still next to him. She mumbled, “12-8, what a lovely name that is. 12-8, perfect name. I love twos and fours and eights. So smooth.”
“Hortense,” Soren whispered softly. Her talons might have just vaguely begun to stir on the floor, but other than that, nothing. “Hort! Horty!” He tried, but the little Spotted Owl was lost in some dreamless sleep.
Finally, Soren was back under the arch and quickly moved over to the other side, which connected to the neighbouring glaucidium. The sleep monitors had just barked out the command, “Now, sleep!”
Suddenly, Gylfie was there. The tiny Elf Owl swung her head towards Soren. “They’re moon blinking us,” she whispered.
“What?” It felt so good to say a whh sound that Soren almost missed the answer.
“Didn’t your parents tell you about the dangers of sleeping under the full shine?”
“What is ‘full shine’?” Soren asked.
“When did you hatch out?”
“Three weeks ago, I think. Or so my parents told me.” But again, Soren was not really sure what a week was.
“Ah, that explains it. And in Tyto there are great trees, right?” Gylfie asked.
“Oh, yes. Many, and thick with beautiful fir needles and spruce cones and leaves that turn golden and red.” Again, Soren wasn’t sure about leaves turning for he had never seen them anything but golden and red. But his parents had told him that once they were green in a time called summer. Kludd had hatched out near the end of the green time.
“Well, you see, I hatched out more than three weeks ago.” They spoke softly, so softly, and managed to maintain the sleep position, but neither one of them was the least bit sleepy. “I was hatched after the time of newing.”
“The newing? When is that?” asked Soren.
“You see, the moon comes and the moon goes and at the time of the newing, when the moon is no thicker than one single thin, downy feather, well, that is the first glint of the new moon. Then, every day it grows thicker and fatter until there is full shine, like now. And it might stay that way for three or four days. Then comes the time of the dwenking. Instead of growing thicker and fatter, the moon dwenks and becomes thinner, until once more it is no thicker than the thinnest strand of down. And then it disappears for a while.”
“I never saw this. At least, I don’t think I have.”
“Oh, it was there but you probably didn’t really see because your family’s nest was in the hollow of a great tree in a thick forest. But Elf Owls like myself live in deserts. Not so many trees. And many of them are not very leafy. We can see the whole sky nearly all the time.”
“My!” Soren sighed softly.
“And that is why they teach all of us Elf Owls about full shine. Although most owls sleep during the day, sometimes, especially after a hunting expedition, one might be tired and sleep at night. This can be very dangerous if one sleeps out bald in the light of a full moon. It confuses one’s head.”
“How?” Soren asked.
“I’m not sure. My parents never really explained it but they did say that the old owl Rocmore had gone crazy from too much full shine.” Gylfie paused, then hesitating, went on. “They even said that he often did not know which was up and which was down and that finally he died of a broken neck when he thought he was lifting off from the top of a cactus.” Gylfie’s voice almost broke here. “He thought he was flying towards the stars and he slammed into the earth. That’s what moon blinking is all about. You no longer know what is for sure and what is not. What is truth and what are lies. What is real and what is false. That is being moon blinked.”
Soren gasped. “This is awful! Is this what is going to happen to us?”
“Not if we can help it, Soren.”
“What can we do?”
“I’m not sure. Let me think a while. Meanwhile, try to cock your head just a bit, so the moon does not shine straight down on it. And remember, when flying in full shine there is no problem. But sleeping in it is disastrous.”
“I can’t fly yet,” Soren said softly.
“Well, just be sure you don’t sleep.”
Soren cocked his head and while doing so tipped his beak down to look upon the little Elf Owl. How, he wondered, was such a tiny creature so smart? He hoped with all his might that Gylfie would come up with something. Some idea. Just as he was thinking this, there was a sharp bark. “12-1, head straight, beak up!” It was another sleep monitor. He felt a thwack to the side of his head. They did not fall asleep, and as soon as the patrolling owl left, they began whispering again. But then, all too soon, came the inevitable alarm for a sleep march to begin. It would be three more circuits before they could meet again under the arch.
“Remember what I told you. Don’t sleep.”
“I’m so tired. How can I help it?”
“Think of anything.”
“What?”
“Anything—” Gylfie hesitated before a sleep monitor shoved her along. “Think of flying!”
Flying, yes, thinking of flying would keep Soren awake. There was nothing more exciting. But in the meantime, all thoughts of flight were drowned out by the sound of his own voice repeating his own name.
“Soren … Soren … Soren … Soren …” There was also the sound of thousands of talons clicking on the hard stone surface as they marched in lines. Soren