The Owl

An old, seldom used trail led through the dark forest; branches loomed over the path. It was neither day nor night, just some strange hazy in-between. Out of the fog came an odd procession, an old man on a grey horse leading the way. He was neither frail nor sickly. He had iron grey hair and rode on his horse proud and strong. The fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever. Behind the old man was a boy, also on a horse. He sat awkwardly, clutching onto the saddle and often losing his balance. The boy looked around and opened his mouth to speak, but was quieted by a look from the soldier riding behind him. The soldier was a tall, young man. He had the attire of a warrior and a long sword hung at his side. The only noise was the clicking of the three horses’ hooves on the stone. 

“Greetings!” A voice out of the darkness said.

The soldier pulled out his sword; it glittered in the darkness. “Who’s there?” he called out, not appearing startled nor upset, so as to show no weakness.

They walked closer and came to an old, withered oak tree where an owl sat. 

“I’m here.” The voice said.

The men looked around.The boy’s eyes widened in fear and he gripped the saddle more tightly.

“Do you not see me?” The owl asked.

The old man looked up and as he spotted the winged creature, he asked “Are you the one who spoke?”

“Yes.”

“What can we do for you?”  He asked, politely.

“Well?” repeated, slightly impatient.

“I do not need you to do anything for me.” The owl said, confused.

Now it was time for the old man to be confused. “Then why did you call out to us?”

“I was simply greeting you. Is that not what one is to do when one sees somebody coming by?” the owl asked.

“Yes.”

There was an awkward silence as the owl wondered what to say next and the men questioned how an owl was talking.

“How did you get to talk?” The boy blurted out. The old man gave him a look of scorn, causing the child to shrink in his saddle. The owl looked thoughtfully around for a few minutes as the boy squirmed in his saddle impatiently. “WELL?!?” He asked, now causing an even more scornful look from the soldier.

“I just can.” The owl finally said.

The old man, slightly annoyed by the owl’s strange mannerisms asked, “What’s your name?” He asked, trying to figure out just what to do with this bird.

The owl peered at them with his bright yellow eyes. 

“Why should I have a name?”

“Everyone has a name.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

The owl did not reply. 

“Didn’t your parents give you a name?” The old man asked, still trying to figure out more about this owl.

“My parents did not talk.”

“But you do?”

“Yes.”

“I will give you a name!” The boy interjected.

The owl looked at him curiously. “Okay.”

“Your name will be… Antonin, meaning invaluable, because a talking owl would be invaluable!” The boy said, hoping the owl would like it.  

The owl thought for a moment. “That is a very good name.”

The boy beamed, and the old man sat up and said, “Well Antonin, I would be honored if you came with us to the great city. I am going to be teaching the language of the Greeks at a large school for boys. You will be free to go when and where you like and we will provide for you food, shelter, and other things that an owl would probably like.”

The owl looked up, excitement in his eyes. “I think I will go with you!” He said, and flew down and landed on the old man’s shoulder.

“To adventures!” The boy said as they started back down the path and into the mist.