Night Sword and the Crooks of Etsa - A Short Story

The owl’s amber eyes moved swiftly, piercing through the shadows as a faint rustling echoed from the dense foliage far below. His talons flexed in anticipation, sharp as daggers, as he scanned the moonlit forest floor. There—his next meal, a mouse, scurried between patches of moonlight, blissfully unaware of the predator lurking above. With a sudden, silent sweep of his wings, the owl launched into the air, his feathers blending seamlessly with the darkness.

The mouse’s heart skipped a beat as he sensed danger, eyes darting upward just in time to see the great, winged silhouette descending upon him. He tried to bolt, but it was too late. The owl's talons closed around him, the grip unyielding, pressing the air from his tiny lungs. He fought for freedom, straining to reach the sword strapped to his side, but his arms wouldn’t budge under the owl's iron grasp. His wide eyes caught a glimpse of the yawning black hole in the side of a nearby tree, and he knew it would be his grave.

The owl released him with a flick, sending him tumbling into the hollow. The mouse bounced off the walls of the owl’s den, his body battered and bruised before coming to a stop against the rough bark at the far end. He groaned, vision swimming as he pulled himself up, paw instinctively reaching for his sword. As the moonlight filtered through the entrance, he saw the shadow of the owl creeping closer, growing larger, darker, more menacing with every passing second.

“Don’t take another step, or I’ll hack your beak off!” the mouse spat, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He stood defiantly, ears perked, gripping the sword handle as tightly as his tiny paws allowed. “I am royalty,” he added, attempting to sound regal, though his voice wavered.

“Oh? And what is royalty doing all alone in a place like this?” The owl’s voice was a rich, rolling baritone, dripping with amusement. He stepped forward, his feathers rustling like the whisper of death itself.

“Waiting for a friend,” the mouse snapped, eyes narrowing. “And I’m not discussing this with you! You will die!” With that, he lunged forward, thrusting his sword at the owl with all his might.

The owl, twice his size and far quicker, batted the sword away effortlessly with a wing. It flew from the mouse’s grasp, striking the wall with a metallic clang before falling to the ground. In a heartbeat, the owl’s talons pinned him, claws wrapping around him like bands of steel.

Laughter erupted, echoing through the hollow like thunder. “You nearly pissed yourself, little rodent,” the owl said, his beak parting in a grin. “I haven’t seen such a fight from a mouse in ages.”

“Oh, that is not funny, Pete!” the mouse snapped, wriggling free from the owl’s grasp. “You scared the life out of me! Why would you do that?”

Pete the owl, with his midnight-black feathers and sharp, intelligent eyes, settled back on his haunches, still chuckling. “Is that any way for royalty to talk, Eddie?” he teased, tilting his head in mock innocence.

“It’s Prince Edward!” the mouse growled, brushing bits of dust and feathers from his tattered velvet cloak. His fur, a soft gray with streaks of white, was ruffled from the fall, and his tiny crown—more a circlet than a true crown—sat askew on his head. “I told you to meet me here, not to scare me half to death like some common predator!”

Pete’s golden eyes softened as he adjusted his wings. “You always need a favor,” he said, a touch of fondness in his tone. Despite his fearsome appearance, Pete was Edward’s most trusted ally. It was strange, the bond between owl and mouse, but it had grown over years of shared adventures and mutual respect.

“Well, I do need your help,” Edward admitted, his shoulders slumping. As the prince of the Liamdore Woods, it was Edward's sworn duty to protect the innocent creatures of his kingdom. Often, that meant dealing with unsavory sorts, and Pete’s presence made it easier to rid the woods of such threats. Disguised as the mysterious Night Sword, Edward had made a name for himself as a fearsome warrior, even if he was just a mouse.

“There’s a banquet waiting for you,” Edward said, his eyes hardening. “Burglars have stolen from the Royal Tombs of Etsa, where my ancestors are buried. I know where they’re hiding.”

Pete’s feathers fluffed up in excitement, his talons clenching with anticipation. “Well then, what are we waiting for?” he said, his voice a low rumble. Edward climbed onto the saddle strapped to Pete's back, carefully securing himself for the journey ahead.

The wind howled in Edward’s ears as they soared through the night sky, his cloak flapping wildly behind him. Pete’s wings cut through the air like blades, carrying them with grace and power. The mouse prince’s heart raced, a mix of fear and exhilaration filling his chest as they approached a tree with a faint, eerie glow emanating from a hollow within. “There it is,” Edward whispered, pointing. “We need to act fast when we land.”

But just as they drew near, the light vanished. “Were we spotted?” Pete hissed, his eyes narrowing.

“Maybe,” Edward replied, his mind racing. “You’ve got the best night vision. Go straight in. I’ll unstrap myself as soon as we’re inside. I’ll take the left; you handle the right.”

Without hesitation, Pete dove, his wings folding in as he shot toward the hollow. The world blurred around them, and Edward clung to the saddle, his heart pounding in his chest. Pete squinted into the darkness, trying to make out shapes inside. Birds, lots of them—sparrowhawks, a couple of eagles, and several other owls. “Why would they target Edward's royal ancestors?” The loyal owl wondered, confusion and doubt creeping in.

Suddenly, the light flared back to life, illuminating a gathering of familiar faces. Pete slowed, eyes wide in disbelief, as laughter and cheers erupted from within the hollow.

“‘Happy birthday, you old sod!’” called Sam, a burly eagle with feathers like burnished copper, a wide grin on his beak.

“Yeah, you old sod!” echoed his twin brother Cam, identical in every way but for a scar running down his left eye.

Pete’s beak fell open, and he turned to Edward, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You made up that whole story about the Tombs of Etsa for a birthday surprise?” he asked, disbelief and warmth mingling in his voice.

“You got it, mate,” Edward said, handing over a mug of ale. “Happy birthday, old friend.”