This part of the farm had decent soil, which the farmers used to grow a good crop of hay and straw for the animals that winter. And winter was closing in quickly. For acres, the fields were covered in a gilded blanket, one of ready wheat heads and flaxen hay for baling. The farmer and his staff would work from just after dawn to just before dark, and so they would miss a very important member of their workforce.

This member lived in the barn, roosting among hay bales and planks for the reparation of the building. The bales and planks were shaped like a cave, which the owl would have prefered, or even a spacious, rotting tree, but no such thing presented itself. He had to make do with what he could get.

He had solicited for himself a female to stay in the area, and the two of them would hunt at dusk and at dawn, when the most light was coming so they could see the voles, rabbits, and small birds that they ate. The two of them had raised and fledged their first clutch of owlettes together that summer. The five young that had been fledged were now wandering far from their natal nest to find a home of their own, possibly as much as 200 miles as the owl flies.

That was not his concern, however. His only concern at the moment was finding a reliable food source for the winter. He could feel it in his feathers that, as the leaves rustled stubbornly on the pin oaks at the edge of the fields, this one in particular would be a cold winter. He and his female could easily freeze or starve to death.

It would serve him right. He was heading towards his second year of life. Most tells he had heard of his kind rarely lived passed this second year anymore. Only the sagest and most wiley could make it passed the Second Year, and then they were on borrowed time until as long as their tenth year, when they usually flew their last flight.

It was difficult to see tonight, as it was every night. The owl was grateful for his ears for this reason. Using them much more than his eyes, he could snatch his prey.

There!

He zero'd in on the sound of a rat in the field. It was closer to the home site than he would have wished, but sometimes beggars cannot be choosers.

It was an easy kill, as he quickly triangulated the distance between himself and the noise using his asymetrical ears. He launched himself down at the rat, his third toe switching back to double up with his fourth. His talons went forward, his head went back, and he slammed home into the rat before taking off to return to the home site.

Times like these, the owl was thankful for his white underbelly. The stupid creatures he ate could not possibly see him from below, even on the most moonlit of nights, because from below, the white looked as dark as the sky.

He brought his kill back to the home site, and there he proceeded to tear bits of it and eat it while he waited for his mate to return. She probably wouldn't be as lucky as he was, he thought, as he swallowed bits of the rat, hair, bones, and all. He'd retch it up later; sometimes his pellets fell all the way to the ground floor of the barn. The farmers usually wondered what was going on when they found them.

His kill devoured, the owl took off again for a flight around the area. It was a nice night, and he had a good desire to stretch his wings.

Fall always means hurricane season in the south coastal areas. The owl didn't live anywhere near that, generally speaking, but he had been born near the coast, and flown north and west of it to get away from the winds and driving rain. He had mostly succeeded, but late September usually shakes the trees of its leaves by a steady stream of big storms driving up the coast. Living inland, and well-sheltered as he and his female were, the owl didn't think he had anything to worry about.

However, the days were steadily growing more humid, more windy. The precursors of the storms were about. He had failed to choose a safe enough nesting site.

There were no trees within an acre of the spot on which the barn stood. The farmer's house was generally nearer to the treeline, and from there was the road. The barn was situated between two hayfields and housed the farmer's heavy equipment on one side, and his pigs and a few goats on the other. The owls lived on the side that reeked of animals, not man.

One night, the rain started. The owls had been expecting a storm, but not one of the magnitude that presented itself. The wind made flight difficult, and no prey in its right mind would be out with the weather. The owls, too, had felt the storm coming, and at his female's urging, they had abandoned the barn to take up refuge within the forest nearby.

Throughout the night there was the thunder and lightning that accompanied a storm and made it truly trecherous. With such loud noises, flight was dangerous for the owls, so they stayed put. The lightning may have otherwise chosen to ground itself through their bodies, which would have been disasterous for both, even if just one had been struck.

The two of them rested throughout the night, each taking comfort in the other's presence. At dawn, the rain was still coming down, and the atmosphere still felt hazardous, so they flew off, looking for somewhere safe to nest for the day.

They were rewarded by finding a small cave set in a cliff that was most unfortunately previously occupied by a colony of bats. The owls sucked up their pride and shared the space with the bats, who were up half the night screeching. Bats had always been a chatty bunch in the owl's opinion, and he would eat them if he could catch them, but he rarely did. So, they abided each other's company without ostensible notice.

And they all waited the storm out together.

Eventually, at at long last, the owl and his female decided that the worst of the rain was gone. They told this to the bats, and they left to return to their home in the barn. The bats paid them no heed, and so the two of them returned at dusk to their warm hay cavern.

Unfortunately, there was no hay cavern to return to. When the owl and his female came to the edge of the field, he sensed something was wrong. He circled around from one end of the field, looking as well as listening. His eyes caught the dim outline of the barn, and he heard no noise of pigs or goats.

Something was wrong, and he told his female so. Together they flew towards their usual enterance, only to find it an enterance to nowhere. They perched together on a rafter and looked around. The entire roof of the structure had been torn off in the storm and much of the inner supports were in shambles. The damage was everywhere, and there was nothing they could do.

Nothing, that is, except take advantage of the situation. There were plenty of alcoves in which to hide now! The owl and his female both began to explore the area, hopping and gliding in the night to find a new home site. He found a proper one first, which suited him well.

There was a wide enterance in the front and the debris of the caved in roof made an excellent shelter for them. It was better than the old hay-cave they had used.

So having declared that spot their new home site, the two took off into the night to begin hunting. The owl made it into the forest and found a fat mouse scurrying around. He veered noiselessly between two trees and their grabbing handfuls of leaves and then dropped out of the sky, caught the mouse harshly, and listened to it squeak and struggle the entire flight home. When he reached the home site, he killed and devoured it and waited for his female to return home.

At dawn, the two completed their final hunt for the evening and settled in to rest for the daylight. The rain had stopped. The humans had decided to investigate the extent of the damage. There were many of them.

The owl didn't like humans. He abided them about as well as he abided bats: with careful tolerance. They were bigger than bats, however, and more dangerous. Owlish lore told of many stories where their kind had been hunted almost to extinction because of these long-legged, weak-looking predators. The humans who owned the farm, however, had never posed a threat to him and his female, and he truly doubted they knew they were there. Nevertheless, they needed to be careful. Humans needed to be watched and analyzed for any creatures' future health.

He didn't need to wake his female. She had heard them as well as he did. In the harsh light of day, his eyes were less useful to him than at night, but he could still watch their motions. They appeared to be assessing the damages done to the barn and livestock as he and his female had done earlier that night.

The humans were speaking to one another, and one of them pointed the nest site out to the other. The owl watched them, staying between them and his female, though she was in no ways defenseless. She could be as wicked and dangerous as he could. She certainly had as many talons.

Soon, the humans went away, and the owl knew that sooner or later, he would have to relocate their nest-site temporarily while the humans took over the area. Perhaps tonight, after their hunt, he would look for a place to stay the next few days. Someplace safe, but someplace that left the fields accessible.

He discussed the idea with his female, and she agreed it would be prudent. She left the duty to him, since he often found better homes for them, and he often found nearer prey.

They slept, for now.

That night, the owl and his female took to the skies in their silent flight again. He headed for the forest almost immediately. Hunting tactics were a little different in the woods, and he found a low branch to perch on and wait. In time, he was rewarded by the gossamer noise of a mouse scurrying across the fallen leaves and onto a pile of rocks.

He lifted off the branch without a noise and dropped down on the mouse, locking it in his talons and returning to his perch to devour it. Holding it in one hand and tearing out its flesh and life with his razor-sharp beak, he considered where to begin his search for their new nest-site. He considered the area opposite where they had roosted temporarily during the storm the other night. They had already searched that area, and nothing of use for them had presented itself.

However, he needed to choose the site carefully. Too far in this direction meant that there was a road, which would surely kill any over-earger owlette, and just across from the road began the Horned Owl's territory, and he was known to eat small owls. The owl didn't blame him, really. It was food as well as a way to eliminate competition, and he would do it himself to the Horned Owl's owlettes if the opportunity presented itself.

Eventually it would be winter, too. And though he had never experianced winter for himself, he knew deep in his bones that it got cold, and food got scarce, and it could kill. So many things killed, he knew, deep in his bones. He had to be careful to heed these ancestral, genetic warnings.

After finishing his mouse and reviewing his steps for caution, the owl took off and began to search again. Anything with an opening on one side, tall enough to stand in, deep enough to protect them from driving rain, would do at this point in the game. The owl sincerely counted on moving back into the barn for the winter, and if the livestock and their warmth were all dead, then he would move into the dairy barn and abide cows for the season. And of course his female would come with him.

Eventually, he found a round wooden container stuck in a tree that satisfied requirements. Furthermore, the container did not smell of any creatures, and it seemed to be stuck fast in the tree with no possibilities of falling. He would tell his female at the moon's apex at the barn as they had agreed. He marked the spot in his mind and flew back to the old home site.

There, he waited. And waited. And waited.

His female was too choosy in her diet, he knew, but no matter what he said to her, she would not listen, not really. Such was the way of females, and she went a great distance for her favourite food every night, but every night she returned, full for the moment and very happy.

Tonight, however, she was not returning.

The owl began to worry. He paced the length of the remaining roof on the barn with carefully-placed talons. Then, he paced it back, waddling along, ruffling his feathers in worry. At length, he became so worried that he cried out into the night a single, irritated screech. If she had heard, she would return it.

He listened. He waited. He screeched again.

Nothing.

He called out the special screech he had just for his female. She returned nothing.

Worrying more by the moment, he took off and began trying to trace her flight this evening. He knew her favourite food was especially large field mice, but not the ones who were raised on the wheat of the farmer's fields. They only lived one other place that the owl knew of, and he flew straight towards it.

The wind was ruffling his feathers as he flew, which made him uncomfortable. He would have loved to have returned to the home site, but he would not leave his female were she wounded or lost or in danger. She was his female, and definitely not the quarry of some other creature.

He had arrived, and called down the road the terrorized scream that was common to his species. Nothing, not even the Horned Owl returned his cry. Then, he heard the rumbling of the steel creatures that travel the roads and charm owls to their deaths. He listened through the din to see if he could hear his female, but instead he heard a meaty "THWUNK" as the steal creature passed beneath him.

The owl flew down and saw to his horror the moonlight-white feathers of his female strewn across the road. There was nothing more for him to do. He couldn't save her. He had to move on and let the world take its course. Deep in his heart, however, he knew he would miss her warmth, her companionship, and the life she gave to his owlettes.

He returned to his temporary shelter. He would solicit a new mate in the spring. If he lived that long.

They're called Ghost Owls in some parts of the world, and their cries are often used to divine the times of death of people walking in the woods. If you're walking in the woods at night, and you hear the scream of an owl, you must return it, or your death is near.

Or so they say. Of course owls cannot curse humans who don't return their cries, but legends must have some ties to the past. Otherwise, it's pretty obvious that people were eating some bad mushrooms when they came up with this stuff.

In many cultures, however, owls have a strong tie to the dead. They are the souls of married women flying up to heaven. They are the ferriers of the dead to the sky. Owl talons can help dead hunters climb their ways out of Hell and up to their paradise of choice.

Real owls aren't any of that, of course, and the month of storms passed, and the farmer rebuilt his barn, and the livestock moved back in. The owl returned, lonely without his mate, but with a proper home site in an old wooden box where the old straw bales had been his home, courtesy of the farmer and his hands.

The days began to chill, and the nights leaned to frost, and the leaves turned colors and fell in spades, and the owl continued to live, alone and lonely. And then, one very cold night while he was hunting, he met the strangest creature he had ever known.