Wildwood Imperium (Wildwood Chronicles 3)

He had relatives who were living in other, more populated areas of the Wood, and they were forever bothering him to come and join them; that somehow, in his advanced age, he could benefit from the help of others. To him, this suggestion implied that he was unable to look out for himself, and he took umbrage at this. Deep, deep umbrage. It only made him more content in his daily and nightly habits, his everyday activities, here in this farthest frontier of the woods in his quiet and cozy hollow-of-a-tree.

Every day, he slept away the sunlit hours and woke himself at dusk. Every night, he busily tidied his hollow-of-a-tree and then set out for his breakfast, which happened at night, as it does for most owls. However, rather than expending an awful lot of energy, flying around and searching the forest floor for food, this owl simply climbed out of his nest and made his way, slowly, some three feet down the edge of one of the tree’s surviving limbs and sat there for the remaining hours of the evening, watching the ground. Occasionally a small rodent would run across his field of vision and he would unfurl his large, weatherworn wings and soar down and grab it for lunch or dinner, depending on what time of night it was. But mostly he just sat there, staring at the ground.

When the first glints of sunrise awoke the early morning birds and the waxy leaves of the salal vines glowed in the light, the owl would yawn and make his way the few feet to his nest in the hollow-of-a-tree and happily brew himself some hot chocolate and cozy up with a book in a small chair by the fireplace and doze off.

Life went on like this for the old owl, fairly uninterrupted, until one day, while he was holding his vigil on the tree limb, casually scanning the darkened underbrush for rodents, as he did every night, a slight tremor alerted him to someone or something that had joined him on the branch.

He looked over to see that it was a squirrel.

“Go away,” said the owl.

“What’re you looking at?” asked the squirrel.

“Nothing,” said the owl, not wanting to engage the newcomer in conversation. He enjoyed his privacy, his solitude. He wished the squirrel would respect that.

The squirrel cocked his head. “Nothing? Like, nothing?”

“Nothing,” said the owl. “Now leave me alone.”

The squirrel remained, transfixed, as the owl was, on the ground below.

“You’re still here,” said the owl, after a time. Which the squirrel was.

“How do you do it?” asked the squirrel.

“Do what?”

“Just sit here, staring at the ground. Don’t you get bored?”

“For your information, I am hunting,” said the owl. “I am hunting for small, furry creatures that I might eat. Technically, you fit that description.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I’d just prefer to be left alone, is all,” said the owl with a deep sigh.

“I get it,” said the squirrel.

They sat in silence for a moment, while the owl continued to search the ground. He didn’t like confrontation or conflict, this owl, and so he chose to simply pretend that the squirrel wasn’t there. He would make good on his threat and eat the squirrel, except that the owl didn’t particularly like the taste of squirrels—and, what’s more, they were a little too big for him. Maybe in his younger days, but now, he found he preferred the ease of hunting mice and voles and the like.

“Question,” said the squirrel.

“What?” asked the owl, annoyed. Perhaps if he engaged the squirrel briefly, he could satisfy the animal’s curiosity and he would then leave the owl in peace.

“Don’t you think there’s, you know, more to life? I mean, more than just sitting here on this limb and waiting for some food to come walking along.”

“What do you mean?” asked the owl, now having a hard time pretending the squirrel wasn’t there.

“You know, seems an awful waste of one’s time on this stretch of earth, just satisfying the urgings of the old tummy without a thought given to the bigger questions of the day.”

The owl thought about this for a second, before replying, “Seems okay to me.”

And then: “Seems like a very good life, actually.”

The squirrel shook his head. “But there’s, like, a whole world out there! Filled with mystery and awe and sorrow and happiness. And all you’re doing, night in and night out, is sitting on this old branch and watching for a mouse to come along.” The squirrel held out his paws, palms up, and shook them. “Don’t you just, you know, long for more?”

“Guess I hadn’t thought about it that much,” was the owl’s reply. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, I don’t want to—”

“Hold up,” said the squirrel. “Can I show you something?”