Owl School Starts at Dusk

At dusk, Olwen stood beneath the biggest hollow tree she had ever seen. Golden windows blinked high in its trunk. Her parents gave her a soft nuzzle at the door, but her claws still curled tight around the bark. Owl School waited inside, and it looked enormous.

Olwen lifted one claw. Then the other. She stepped through the round doorway before her knees could change their minds. The tree smelled of moss and chalk, with a tickle of dust that nearly made her sneeze. She had done the first brave thing, but the stairs curled upward.

At the top was a branch full of owlets Olwen did not know. One of them scooted over at once. “I’m Quince. I brought three pencils,” she said. “One for writing and two for losing.” Quince talked very fast, while one foot gripped the branch very hard. Olwen sat beside her anyway.

Mrs Tawny swept to the front and fluffed her silver-speckled feathers. The whole branch went quiet. She peered around as if the room had suddenly filled with mysteries. “Who goes there?” “Just me.” Olwen’s answer was barely louder than moth feet, but it came out.

“Welcome, Just Me,” said Mrs Tawny. Quince snorted, then covered it with a cough. “I once answered ‘a sandwich,’” she whispered. “Mrs Tawny said sandwiches seldom have feathers.” Olwen’s beak twitched. School felt one feather smaller.

Their first lesson was listening. They heard a leaf scratch the window. Scritch. They heard a beetle cross the floor. Tap tap tap. Then Mrs Tawny dimmed the lantern and called from the other side of the hollow, “Who goes there?” “Just me.” This time Olwen said it clearly.

Next came night flying. The owlets glided from branch to branch while the sky deepened from blue to blackberry. Quince landed sideways, announced, “Exactly as planned,” and tried again. Olwen flew slowly, with the cool air combing her feathers and the moon just above her wing.

On the highest branch, Mrs Tawny raised one feather. The wood went still. “Who goes there?” “Just me.” Olwen planted both feet and hooted the words so round and bright that the moon seemed to look around. Quince nearly dropped her last pencil.

By dawn, the lanterns were low. Olwen’s wings felt heavy in the good way, as if they were full of soft sand. A rustle came from behind the trunk. Olwen tilted her head and called, “Who goes there?” “Just me.” Quince popped out, wearing one pencil behind each ear.

Their parents waited below in the pearly morning. Olwen and Quince bumped wings goodbye. No one hurried. Even the leaves seemed sleepy now, whispering together above the school door.

Olwen tucked her beak beneath her wing on the way home. Behind her, the great hollow tree glowed once, then faded into dawn. Hush went the sky.

The End