//------------------------------// // Chapter Two // Story: Certain Predations // by Bandy //------------------------------// That night, back in his cozy Vanhoofer home, Stygian had another dream. When he woke, he flew from his bed in a flash of sheets and went for his dream journal. In another moment’s time, the memories faded away. He got this much down: Limbo. No doubt. An owl with yellow eyes. It’s larger than a house and I’m as small as a mouse. It’s in its nest. I climb over massive twigs and tufts of grass and dirt and when I get to the top I see inside the nest. The owl is picking apart a pony into little pieces. The pony’s head is facing away and the belly’s opened up. The color of the coat is so familiar. The mere act of putting pen to paper distracted him enough to lose the last of the memory. He was left hovering his pen an inch above the paper, wracking his brain for the climax of the dream and coming up short. He shook his head and added one more line before setting the journal back down. I recognized it for certain. Can’t remember now. A letter arrived at Stygian’s doorstep the next day. Twilight, in elegant swoopy hornwriting, apologized again for not being of much help with the dream issue but wanted to approach another issue that might be more in her wheelhouse. From their time together, she wrote, she determined Stygian was feeling several acute symptoms of loneliness. Vanhoofer was an awfully big city, even for somepony used to big cities. Widening his circle of friends might be good to get him out of his shell. Apparently, he had already made a big first step and made a new friend in Owlowiscious. He was anxious for him to return. On the condition that he extend an effort to get out more on his own time, Stygian could also come to Ponyville and visit Owlowiscious once a week. As Stygian wrote his reply thanking Twilight for her generosity and offering to visit in a few days’ time, he couldn’t help but ponder how an owl showed anxiety. As with so many things, Twilight had an answer. “Owl psychology is about as settled as pony psychology--which is to say, not really settled at all. But I know Owlowiscious, and I know when he’s anxious.” The two ponies wove their way through the meandering hallways of the crystal castle. The seamless walls offered no landmarks except for the occasional locked door. There were a few moments Stygian could have sworn he was walking on a treadmill. Trapped in place. “How can you tell when he’s anxious, though?” he asked. “It has a lot to do with his eating habits.” A faint look of distaste crossed Twilight’s face. “When he’s anxious, he takes it out on the mice.” Stygian couldn’t help but laugh. Even as he noticed Twilight’s frown and stifled himself, his smile persisted. “It’s not funny,” Twilight grumbled, “it’s gross.” “It’s life.” “There’s been an awful lot of life to bleach out of the den carpets lately. I can’t hire other ponies to do that.” “Of course, of course. It’s good you feel that way. This world must be a kinder place if the death of a few mice is so traumatic.” Three more weeks and three more visits came and went. Each time Stygian and Twilight arrived, he found Owlowiscious waiting patiently on his coat rack perch. When he had their full attention, he nodded to Twilight, then fluttered over to Stygian. On the fourth week, Twilight presented Stygian with an ornate wooden brush. “Today’s a grooming day. Care to do the honors?” Caring for an owl was a tricky thing, but in no time at all Stygian fell into an old rhythm of brushing and smoothing. Owlowiscious, who seemed more concerned with the quantity of attention he got than the quality of the grooming, closed his eyes and relaxed. Twilight reclined on a long couch in the corner of the room and watched him work. The two ponies made small talk, if not just to drown out the soft skitters and squeaks coming from the mouse cage. “Does he think?” Stygian asked. “About what?” “About anything.” “Well, an owl’s brain is pretty small in proportion to the rest of its body. Most of that brain serves its hunting needs.” “Huh.” “It’s ironic they’re fabled to be wise birds. In general, they’re less trainable than pigeons.” “But not Owlowiscious.” Owlowiscious hooted at the sound of his name. “No,” Twilight said softly. “Not Owlowiscious.” “Maybe I’m just crazy, but I look at those eyes and I feel like he’s thinking about us.” “I’m sure he is.” “But I mean really thinking. More than just animal thoughts.” “We’re animals too. Even our most inspired thoughts are animal thoughts.” Stygian chewed on his reply for a moment. “It’s just different. Maybe I’m the one that’s different.” “You are technically a thousand years old.” “That’s true. I used to think animals and ponies were equals in consciousness.” He felt Twilight’s eyes shift to him, and he focused intently on the floor. “So if they’re not that smart after all, then maybe we’re not as smart as we want to think, either.” He coughed. “But not Owlowiscious.” Twilight fell into silence, pondering Stygian’s words. The longer they waited to speak, the louder the mice in the cage became. If Owlowiscious heard his prey, he made no indication. As Stygian brushed down the bird’s midsection, he noticed something unusual. He gently lifted his wing and felt around the ribs, pausing every few seconds so as not to upset him. “Twilight,” he said quietly, “come here.” He took her hoof and pressed it against Owlowiscious’s side. “Feel that.” “What is it?” “There’s something between the last two ribs. Feel all the way up to the middle.” Their hooves paused halfway up. “There.” Sure enough, there beneath the soft plumage and skin was a bump roughly the size of a button. “What do you think it is?” Twilight asked. “It might be nothing. But I’m certain there’s not supposed to be any bumps there. If I were you I’d schedule a visit to the vet just to be safe.” He looked back at Owlowiscious to find him eyeing him cautiously. All the softness had drained from him eyes. He shivered. It was like he understood every word they had said.