The Night's Light

I can still remember my first moon.

For the first time in my life, the dance of the deepening darkness and the crawl of the cold broke apart from another. The chill in the air continued, but that perfect glowing orb illuminated the Great Inside nearly as if it was day.

I remember looking up at my father as his eyes studied the Great Below, his figure dark against the night’s light. My own impulse to draw into the moment and notice all I could matched his own focus. Even still, had I not been watching, I would not have heard a sound as he slipped from his perch and into the air of the Great Inside.

I was only reminded of my hunger when I heard the faint squeak of a struggle below me; my father appeared again with a great flap, the color of his nearly white beak matching that of the nearly white tuft of fur he held in his mouth. After a final few desperate twitches, he offered that mouse to me, to the protest of my brother.

We ate well that night, each of us getting more of those warm, small mice than I can recall. During our trips to the Great Outside we would usually eat, but not like we had on the night of the first moon.

All of the most important nights of my life seemed to play out under that moon.

I would have loved to remember my third moon for nothing more than the celebration of my first attempts at the Great Below. My mother had been teaching me how to use my wings in the Great Outside. At first we glided from branch to branch of towering trees, before learning to flap our way in any direction we willed to go. Compared to the restrictions of the small nest we had shared our first weeks, the passage of feathers through air was an unimaginable freedom.

In the days leading up to my third moon, we were taken to the gateway of the Great Inside to practice our abilities. There were no trees in the Great Inside, which meant there were not a thousand branches on a hundred trees for safe harbor from all that lurked around the Great Below. Dancing our way through the Great Inside in the golden evening light allowed us to learn the routes we would take during the nights of the Great Moon. Often it meant plunging down from one of the fourteen great beams - twelve across and two long - scanning the lowest part of the Great Below, before climbing up and vaulting ourselves through flight back on top of one of those beams.

I was clumsy and this was not nearly as carefree as gliding to a branch that just happened to me the right height and bend that I could drop myself down onto without much trouble. The beams were large, meaning my talons could not at all wrap around them as they could a branch.

But I remembered the feasts of the Great Moon, and pushed on.

My brother had been a much better natural flier. He dipped between beams with a grace and elegance that I badly lacked. What looked effortless to him felt monumental to me. I nearly asked if we could wait another moon before we took on the Great Below of the Great Expanse, but knew better than to doubt the wisdom of our two mated teachers.

The night of my third moon, the four of us sat on one of the great beams, my brother and I at one’s side, our father beside me, our mother beside him. Just as we had learned in the Great Expanse, we trained our eyes on the Great Below. For now, we could make out very little. A flick here, a glimmer there. Until, as it always did, the great moon slid just right into the gateway between the Great Inside and the Great Expanse. The Great Below danced to life in our eyes. In nearly every crack and corner, we could see the movement of life. We would have this opportunity for a handful of flights, before that lunar lantern would move from the gateway and cast the Great Inside back into darkness.

I saw a small mouse wander out from a corner, moving closer to the towering sacks of grain. He was careful to find a path that offered the protection of a perimeter on at least one side. I had learned that it was very challenging to strike like that; I would have to either fly perfectly stable alongside some obstruction, or attempt a landing that offered no forgiveness for error, lest I want to miss long and find myself crashing into the obstacle my prey had wisely used for protection.

I had missed long often in the past weeks; my mother said that’s why my face was so flat. I often wondered if my face really was flatter than my brothers. I had the better vision, and even I couldn’t see it.

I waited until that mouse ran out of edges and corners, and found itself tucked between a pillar and a pile of wood. There was a maze of grain sacks ahead, but it would take a bold and exposed dash to get there.

My eyes fixated on the mouse. I watched every part of its body; watching the small motions of indecision as it turned back into the crevice and appeared again at the opening ahead. I watched as it turned and took a few steps forward and left along the wood - no threat there - and forward and right along the pillar - looked safe there too. I watched as it settled just outside of that protected alley, and trained its eyes on another point of refuge between the bags of grain. As he looked at his prospective meal with all the focus he had, I did the same, looking down at him.

Just as my father had the night of the first moon, I slipped off the beam, the only sound I could hear was the wind against my own feathers. I left before the mouse had made up its mind - its journey across was much shorter than my journey down, so I had to be on my way before any fateful decision he could make.

As I hoped, as I suspected, the stillness of the mouse having trapped the energy of a sprint, the little creature took off. I wondered if it ever even noticed me. I gained on it from above and behind, crashing my talons down about a third of the way through the mouse’s attempt. It fit well inside my grip, but I didn’t let exuberance get the best of me - another lesson I’d had to learn one hungry night in the Great Expanse. A quick few pecks at the neck of the mouse and I could feel no more vibrations. It was quick; I didn’t care much for struggling prey, it was then they seemed most dangerous, their imminent demise inspiring the most unpredictable feats.

My only wish was that I had looked back at my brother after taking my first night flight in the Great Inside. As I returned, both my parents had plunged into the air and past me with an intensity I had never seen; my mother flew by so close I nearly flew into the side of the beam, a mistake that would have been far less forgiving so far up in the Great Below. I landed where my journey had begun, and turned to scan the Great Inside. I could see no owls, only hear my father’s call to my mother. They soon went silent. Soon after, they returned in a solemn glide back to my side.

My brother was gone.

He had taken off after me to the corner of the Great Inside nearest the other gateway - open only during the golden light - seeking out a mouse of his own. His gifted flying had sealed his fate. He was able to trap a mouse of his own that was nearly completely tucked into a corner, a landing that I wouldn’t have dared to try for many moons to come. With his gift came confidence; with that confidence, carelessness, something I could never afford. One of three large felines of the Great Inside had been stalking that same mouse. It was thought that it had pounced the moment my brother had landed, seeing a feast in him. While he had been preoccupied with securing his meal, he had managed to become one of his own.

I remember waking up hungry the day after my brother died. None of us had it in us to hunt in the Great Inside for many moons after that day, and we certainly had no interest in feasting where my brother was himself being feasted on.

The last time I saw my mother was my 9th moon. While I was then free to explore the Great Expanse on my own, I would often return to the Great Inside where I would find one or both of my parents.

By then I was about as confident with my wings as I would ever get. I could fly, hunt, and protect myself when I needed to by way of a quick takeoff - a skill I practiced many nights after the fate of my brother. I knew better to go hungry for a night than let something go unnoticed.

My selectiveness meant I had sacrificed size, some. I was strong, I was capable, but I was not the largest owl I’d seen in the Great Expanse. In fact I may have been one of the smallest. It bothered me only that I knew it was the result of my brother’s fate; seeing a large owl on a distant branch would remind me not that I was small, but why I was small.

Being small had advantages, after all. I could fly far more skillfully through thicker parts of the brush. Not only was this exhilarating, but did wonders for my abilities to hunt in the Great Expanse. I could also lift myself into the trees with fewer obstacles to consider, as I once had when I encountered a snake of some sort; they were one of the few other creatures that posed a real threat in the Great Expanse. Most others didn’t have the speed that I did.

It was my size on that ninth moon that seemed poised to provide the largest meal I’d ever had. I had watched a mouse wander disappear behind a corner with a small handful of food. I glided around for a better view, where I saw a small nest filled with tiny, pink lumps squirming around. It was between a wall and a stack of wood, but it looked as if some wood had been removed recently; the gap was larger than most spots those mice had hid.

I dipped off the beam and glided to the top of the stacks of wood for a better view. I could fit there easily! And look how many there were! Best of all, while the gap was wide enough for me to fit, the above remained clear and I could leap into flight should I need that quick escape.

I dove my beak into the first of the small but TK snacks before me, making quick work of it. Then a second and a third. A mother cowered near, unable to do anything other than watch.

But she was not the only mother that was watching me that night. I had made my way through about half of my catch when I heard the familiar flap of my mother’s wing. She took a position just above me, on a beam attached to the wall. I blinked up at her; I assumed she would be happy to see me doing so well.

Her gaze continued on; she seemed to have the same look as she once had teaching me, many moons ago. It was neither positive nor negative, but simply a confident intensity I knew to notice.

I wondered if she was hungry, and hopped to one side to offer her space at my edible table. She remained unmoved. When I consumed that next tiny mouse, she called out to me twice. I blinked back, not yet understanding. Turning back to continue eating - I knew better than to waste a meal, especially with my selectiveness - she hopped down and joined me, but put herself between me and the rest of my meal.

I was confused. I tried once more to make my way back to easy food. But she persisted.

I took refuge back on a beam and looked down at the mess I’d created. A mother mourned in the Great Below, while my mother sat with me for a time. Once she seemed convinced that I wouldn’t return for the rest of my meal, she took flight through the gateway into the Great Expanse, and disappeared into the night one final time.

It would be many moons later that I remembered finding another small mouse - not quite as small as the ones I had left in the nest, but very small all the same. The smell and taste; it wasn’t the same as it had been on that night, but it was very close. When I found nests, as I did periodically through the moons, I was always careful to leave as much as I took. With that, there never seemed to be a shortage of food during my visits to the Great Inside.

The closest I had ever come to death prior to tonight was the second moon of my own daughter (I had stopped counting moons by then). As she sat on a beam watching me dive around the Great Inside in a series of demonstrations, I became singularly focused on teaching her as well as my mother had taught me. I showed her the best paths, the best places to land and, as I often needed, places to land when it all went wrong.

While I was showing her the places you could fit while still giving yourself an escape from above, I had failed to notice the sliding gateway was open, despite it being well beyond the hours of the golden light. As I trotted between wall and grain, I kept an eye on her, ahead and up.

I noticed the blink of the great moon far too late; something was coming at me from above. With neither left nor right available for escape, all I could do was hope whatever was confronting me by way of my own escape would pass.

I tucked myself down as much as I could, and held the image of her sitting on that beam in my head. I remember the night my brother died, and wondered if the weight that I had carried from that night would now be passed on to her. I hoped my mated love would think to come find her when we did not return.

But my fate was to survive that night. The object that raced down towards me stopped just short of my tallest feathers. I craned my neck around a full turn to see two keepers of the Great Inside - one large and one small - standing in the doorway. I blinked up at them, my escape still under threat; it seemed stillness was safest.

The smaller of the keepers had been holding a broom, which was taken by the larger of the two. There was some sign of protest, and the broom had to be put out of reach lest it be used again. Once it was safely on one of the beams that ran along the wall, I inched my way back, looking back to see my daughter watch intently on the unfolding events.

The larger keeper dropped to one knee, and held out an arm nearly as long as both of my wings. First he pointed at me. Then at my daughter, a silhouette in the night’s light. He turned his little keepers attention then to one of the few hideouts of mice that I had known to exist. Finally he gestured towards the piles of grain, and back to me, as I took a stance next to my daughter.

Protests satisfied, the keepers left us in the Great Inside undisturbed. All the same, we thought best not to tempt fate with any more lessons that night.

If I had to guess, tonight must be nearly my 50th moon of the Great Inside. I’ve barely made it back. My flight is not as sharp as it once was - and it was never exceptional in the first place. My sight is still sharp, but it takes me a little more time to make sense of what I can see. I’m always hungry now; I’ve tried to be less selective, but it seems I’ve not been able to get as bold as I’d need to be with my dwindling success rate.

I’ve come back to the Great Inside tonight in the hopes of a large meal. Perhaps I can see another moon or two. I’ve had many great nights here in the Great Inside, maybe tonight can provide another.

I drop down towards the Great Below, scanning all the spots I know to find a meal. I’m happy to see some, but after a few passes, it’s pretty clear that tonight I will be lucky just to eat at all. There are no feasts to be had tonight.

More concerning, it is taking me great effort to get back up to the great beams after each pass. Each time it becomes harder still. I don’t know if I could recover as well from a missed landing, so I sit here on the ledge next to where that broom still rests, forgotten to all but me. The air is as cool as it was the night of my first moon.

I hear a noise from above, but faint enough it doesn’t alert me. It takes me a few blinks, but, in the same spot she once nearly watched my demise, I see my daughter on that great cross beam where my father once stood. Where I once stood.

Next to her, her son, his eyes scanning the Great Below; all the nervous excitement of a first flight in the Great Inside. She notices me, but he does not. He’s far too focused on the task ahead.

For the better.

I manage to catch a straggling old mouse trying, poorly, to tuck against an exposed wall. It was a short hop down and back up for me, and I pick at the meal I’ve laid out on that broom.

It isn’t very good. The little ones still in the nest would have been much better.

My grandson seems to be doing well, I can see him picking through his own catch. If there’s to be no great meal tonight, maybe it’s time to return to the Great Expanse for the final time. I don’t feel I’ll be back here again.

The gateway now seems a whole expanse away. It’s a trip I don’t have in me. But the far side of the beam where my father’s third and fourth generation sit is open, and sits just past halfway up to that gateway I’ve passed through so many times. The idea of sitting on that beam one last time seems to feel right anyhow.

I will my wings into action, diving down a little to gather some speed before making the ascent. With a great few flaps, my progress is good, and I climb above the sacks and bales. My next flap is weaker, and I’m able to only maintain my height. I’ll need another good few pushes and I can be up on that beam.

Another two flaps and I am scanning for the place where I started, next to that broom. The landing is less than graceful.

I stare at the beam above with great longing. I am tired. It seems that longing alone won't change my fate tonight.

I look back to a part of the beam I once laid in a nest, surrounded by mother, father, brother. I don’t know why I never considered that I would not leave the Great Inside tonight, I figured I would disappear into the night of the Great Expanse as my parents had.

Maybe the thought of my final moments being where my brother met his early end was part of it. I never liked thinking about that; perhaps that’s why I had never considered that I, too, would be taken by the Great Inside.

I feel a cool wind against me. My daughter lands next to me with a grace I never had, surely something she got from her mother. Soon after, her son clumsily stumbles upon on the the ledge next to me. He takes hold of the broom, which shifts and sends him back down towards the Great Below.

His second attempt is more successful, albeit about as graceful as the first. They say poor flight skips a generation. He has a good teacher though.

We sit there for some time, long after the Great Moon has passed by the gateway, plunging us into darkness. I don’t know if the chill is strong tonight, or if its just my aged body less resilient to it all.

With a hop, I watch my daughter take flight. I can follow her faint outline circle the Great Inside several times. A short call to her son, and he takes on after her, and out in the Great Expanse.

She turns upward, and gracefully pushes towards that gateway in the night. She’s slowed, and lands on the edge of the opening, half in the Great Expanse, half in the Great Inside. She turns back to look at me; it’s dark enough I’m not sure if she can still make me out.

I know she won’t stay long - the sharpness below her talons make for a poor perch. But she sits there for a time.

I wonder how cold it is, until I see several mice below wandering the ailes of grain. At this temperature, I’ve always seen them huddled in their nests.

It seems the cold comes not from the air in the Great Inside, or from the chill of the Great Expanse, but from within me.

I am cold.

I close my eyes for a time, and darkness surrounds me. I feel almost like I can drift off to sleep, when her call awakens me.

From her perch in the gateway, she calls out to me once.

Once again.

A third time.

Silence now. Darkness now. A bitter cold.

But as it did the night of my first moon, the darkness and the cold are seeming to break.

It is still very dark.

But I hold onto the image of daughter and son on that beam not an hour ago, and now I feel it.

Warmth.