The Flight of the Snowy Owl

a short story featuring a Snowy Owl

(Editors note:  this story is fantasy fiction based on my brothers imagination.  real Snowy Owls are beneficial keeping the lemmings population in control and don't attack people). 

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An object was flying faintly through the stillness and silence of the winter air of the forest night.  It was strange, this object, large and silent, nothing you would expect to find in an oak forest. 

The stillness was something else.  It was that kind of stillness that covers nature's violence of the night.  It was a stillness that didn't suggest the death of a careless cottontail rabbit in the fangs of the cunning lynx.  Nor did it suggest the fright the smaller and weaker animals experience while scratching about in the night for food.  It was a stillness that inclined peace and solitude, not in the least hinting of the death and savage life that lurked among the huge gnarled oaks or amidst one of the masses of small gray boulders.  Snow lay like a white blanket on the ground.

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The strange object came into sight.  It was nothing other than a king of the darkness, a snowy owl, winging his way through the night. 

The contrast between he and the blackness was sharp, severe.  Whereas the hue of the forest atmosphere was of a deep, dark black, the owl was snow white, a white that had a soft and lustrous appearance.  Dabs of brown mottled the crown, the back and the wings.  Together his brown and white plumage didn't show the owl for what he was.  It was the great yellow eyes, the slightly concealed harsh beak and the feathered claws which told how fierce this bird of prey could be when he chose. 

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His flight was steady, rhythmical.  Yet he seemed not to be hunting for prey, as most owls would be, but seemed as though he were on a journey; one of great distance, one which many disregard or fail, and one of which there are few that are successful. 

A gradually flowing upward movement of his feet told that the owl was getting ready to land on a perch.  He alit lightly on the massive bough of a towering oak, which wasn't far from the cabin of two hunters. 

Who knows what was going through that ancient and awe-inspiring head?  Perhaps, perhaps he was thinking of a scene he had come across earlier in the night, a scene that had ended a two day search. 

Two days previously when his mate hadn't shown up at their nest, the snowy had started searching.  For two days, his eyes had swept the ground, one eye looking for prey, the other looking for his mate. 

Tonight he had found her. She had been lying in the snow, motionless, listless, with a great pool of frozen scarlet upon her chest.  Scarlet too was on her beak and claws, but not the same scarlet as that of seven corpses not far away from her.  Corpses of five crows and two dogs. 

Could anyone tell if the owl had read of what had happened?  Could the owl know that the crows, while in the sky, had spied his mate and they had flown down to taunt her?  That she'd viciously attacked them?  And that during the battle, the two dogs had arrived howling and yapping?  Did he know that his mate, becoming infuriated with all of the attacks had slain all of the crows?  That she had then madly attacked the dogs and had slain the weaker one?  That as she had finally given the killing blow to the second dog, the dogs' masters had arrived?  That, as she had flown up, one of them fired and she had plummeted to the ground, never to move again?

That the men angry at the loss of their dogs had decided to leave the bodies where they lay? 

Perhaps he knew this, perhaps he didn't, but he had seen his dead mate and now the snowy owl was only one hundred feet away from the roof of the same two hunters whose dogs his mate had slain. 

Inside the cabin, the two men were discussing their dogs as they had been for two days. 

They were sitting before the fireplace, looking into crackling and snapping flames.  While both were garbed for winter hunting, there was a remarkable difference in their physical forms.  One, in his forties, was an extremely long, thin individual with harsh features.  His dark red hair still gleamed and there were few streaks of gray in it.  His thick eyebrows were of the same shade as his hair and made his prominent forehead a little less bold.  His nose protruded from his face above his thin drawn lips and firm chin.  More fierce than anything else were his pale green eyes. 

His companion was of medium build and had thick, pudgy lips.  His nose was not near as bold at the red-haired man's and altogether his face was rather a lumpy blur except for the jet black hair and cold gray eyes. 

The red-haired man was speaking, "What will you do now that you've lost Spindle, Drade?" 

Drade, his gray eyes not moving replied in an emotionless voice, "Look for another like Spindle, I suppose.  And what about you Cecil?" 

"I haven't any ideas.  I'll never find another like my Rogue.  I still can't believe he's dead, killed by a female snowy owl."  Cecil's words were clipped, with a cutting edge to them. 

"At least take comfort that you shot the white witch," Drade commented. 

"White witch, bah!" Cecil was wrathful.  "She was more than that!  She must have been Satan's mistress!" his voice changed now from anger to passion.  "I'll never forget it.  How we heard the dogs. And running up on those dead crows. "

"Your Spindle lying nearby breathing his last.  And then I saw Rogue falling beneath the owl's talons.  I felt a thirst of revenge as I saw Rogue fall.  Then I raised my rifle and fired." 

"What did you feel then?"  Drade inquired. 

"Strange as it seems, I felt...empty," was the reply in a puzzled tone.  

Cecil's face paled as he tried to think of why he had felt as he had, with the minutes being ticked away by a small wooden clock on the mantle of the fireplace.  A penetrating silence began to come over them, but Drade broke it by saying, "I think I'll take a walk out to the bluff."  He rose to get his coat.  "Are you coming?" Drade added as he got his rifle. 

"The bluff?  What do you expect to do there?" Cecil half-growled. 

"I thought I might see a deer on the way.  Anyhow, it's a nice night for a walk." 

"I'll come," Ceil arose and joined Drade, after he had gotten his own rifle and coat. 

Cecil closed the door behind them and wondered if he should be going.  He had a strange dream the night before.  He shrugged his shoulders and the pair walked into the clearing around the cabin. 

They quietly crossed it, with their long boots sinking in the snow.  Drade said, "You know, Cecil, we've hunted together for about twenty years.  I had done little hunting before I met you, but it was during that short period that I witnessed the strangest thing I have ever seen"

"Oh?", Cecil inquired, as they ploughed their way through the fallen flakes.  "What was it?" 

"I and a friend had gone up to northern Canada, looking for wolverine.  We hadn't found any after two weeks but we kept at it.  My friend, Dan, had gone for a short hunt and I was in our cabin fixing a meal.  When he returned, we sat down to eat.  I asked him if he'd seen anything.  Dan told me he had shot a rabbit.  He went on to say that as the rabbit fell, a snowy owl had dived from a tree where it had been concealed and had caught the rabbit up.  Dan wanted his shot so he fired at the owl hoping to frighten it into dropping the animal.  Dan thought he had shot to the left but the owl fell dying.  Dan found the owl dead and assumed the rabbit had fallen some place nearby.  He didn't find it.  But that's not the point.  Two days later while Dan and I were out hunting we suddenly heard a chilling cry.  We whirled and I saw a huge snowy owl diving at us.  At that crucial moment my gun jammed.  Dan fired and missed.  To my horror, I saw the snowys claws dig into Dan's face.  He dropped his rifle, and fell to the ground, screaming in agony.  I rushed to get his rifle but by the time I got it, the owl was gone."

The hunters were well on their way by now and Cicil interrupted Drade's narrative asking with hidden interest, "Did your friend live?" 

"Dan died ten years later.  But during that long period he was completely blind.  The owl had gouged out his eyes."

"Do you think the owl was the mate of the one you accidentally shot?" Cecil asked. 

"I couldn't say Cecil.  But the owl Dan shot was a female and the snowy that blinded Dan was a male. "

A silence ensued between them and the only noise heard was the sound made by their heels breaking through the crusty snow.  Glittering stars shined overhead.  The moon was full and the night air was cool.  They did not know that as they passed under a massive oak, the snowy owl was scarcely five feet above them. 

Their voices faded away as they trudged on, and the snowy owl's eyes seemed to glint as he watched their retreating backs. 

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Rhythmically beating his wings, the snow owl silently flew after the hunters.  Occasionally when the owl became too close, he would land on a nearby limb and would wait until his quarry would get a considerable distance ahead.  Then he would follow them again.  Thus the two hunters and the snowy owl proceeded. 

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The owl landed on a limb and saw the hunters at the bluff's edge, thirty feet away from the end of the forest where he perched. 

Cecil was saying with growing fear, "Drade, do you thik some owl will come after me?"

"Of course not, Cecil, " Drade answered.  "Odd things like that happen only once." 

"I hope so, " said Cecil, trying to calm his fears.  He went on to say shakily, "I never fall apart like this, I don't know.  Your story has rattled me Drade."

His rasping voice was trembling, as Cecil continued, "What's at the bottom of the bluff?'

"Only trees of course.  You know that.  What's the matter with you, Cecil?  I've told you.  Any one can shoot a snowy owl and get away with it" 

"Stop it, Drade!" Cecil yelled in a frenzied passion.  "I keep thinking of that owl, here golden eyes so expressionless.  And then I think of your tale.  Oh God, why did I kill that owl?"

Because you loved Rogue!" Drade's tone was forceful. 

Cecil's face changed slowly at Drade's reply.  "Rogue? How could I have forgotten Rogue?" 

Drade couldn't resist snarling, "and Spindle...I loved my dog too.  And he is dead.----what is the matter Cecil?" 

"All right, " Cecil's voice was low, yielding.  "I dreamt about my corpose last night."

"No!" Drade cried in shock."

"Yes, I did!  I was hunting in my dream.  I shot, then a body fell before my feet.  I knelt, turned it over and stared into my own face with bleeding eye sockets."

Drade was twitching now.  "You're imagining that dream.  No one dreams such things....it's ridiculous."

"I was dead!" Cecil screamed.

"You're insane!" Drade hissed. 

"No, no! I was dead!  Cecil fell in the snow, his body wracked by great sobs. 

Something in the wind caused Drade to look aroound.  What he saw caused him to yell in horror, "Look, Cecil!" 

Cecil rose to his hands and knees, ready for anything.  Anything but the signed of a snowy owl flying at them. 

Both men watched, utterly unable to move. 

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The snowy owl's golden eyes gleamed.  With gaping beak, with monstrous sized wings slowly beating, with outstretched talons, the owl was coming at them.

But just as the owl seemed about to strike them, up it swept into the air and flew towards the forest's rim. 

"I can't stand it any more, " Cecil grabbed his rifle and started firing hysterically at the departing owl, panic ruining his aim. 

"Stop it!" Drade leaped to Cecil's side and slapped him, thinking the owl had left. 

"We're doomed!" cried Cecil.  "Look!" 

Drade turned and to his utter surprise and horror, he saw the snowy owl make a turning swoop. 

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The owl's wings were beating more swiftly now and the terrible golden eyes had a withering look in them. 

Drade stepped out as if to stop the owl.  A strange force compelled him to do so.  Why he did, he didn't know.  Why, he would never know. 

As Drade move, Cecil brought hit rifle up to shoot the owl, which to Cecil's eye was seemingly above Drade.  His quaking finger pulled the trigger as he thought of Drade's story, and with an echoing crack, the gun shot.  Drade clutched his back and staggered around.  He stumbled forward, looking at Cecil with a face as blank as the dead owl's eyes had been.  Drade lurched towards Cecil, then reeling shot over the bluff, spinning below to crash through the trees.

Cecil's eyes searched frantically for the owl and found it coming towards him.

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He saw the raking talons, the baleful look in the yellow eyes, the sinister beak and the floating yet rapid strokes of the wings. 

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The owl was approaching quickly but still in that uncanny floating manner.  And still, Cecil fired, unaware his rifle had emptied long ago. 

The sharp talons drove into Cecil's chest and the slashing beak bit at his face.  Again and again the hooked bill drew across his face, each time drawing more blood.  Beating at the owl with his hands, Cecil stumbled back.  Suddenly with one broad stroke, a wing hit Cecil full in the face.  He fell back, and with a hoarse shout, Cecil fell spiraling down the bluff.  His body flashed through the trees. When he struck the ground, his head hit first and his neck snapped, sweeping away any of Cecil's chances for life.  As the mangled corpse slowly turned over, the remains of Cecil's eyes could be seen.  They had been ripped out. 

Above the bluff, the snow owl was wheeling.  He suddenly set a course and flew into the forest, flying over the clearing, then the cabin and onward. 

Who can tell what was going on in that head?  The yellow eyes were not longer terrorizing and the talons were concealed.  The beak was closed and the strokes of the wings had changed from those of a definite and deep purpose to ones of a wandering life. 

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                                     The End

Raymond L. Collins

raymondofthewoods

Belleville Illinois

circa 1970s; not dated

copyright reserved by the publisher

Carol A Wells