Okay, okay, I'm updating! n.n *iggles* I've been really busy with a
Creative Writing assignment lately and it's been sucking up all my writing
time. But I'm posting this chapter now, dun worry. Thanks for all the
reviews, I love them all. n.n 3
scorbin80: Darn you and your gallons of ice cream! ^_^ My muse latched onto the mental image and made me draw a depressed-looking chibi Jareth slouched in a big stuffed easychair and surrounded by cartons and cartons of chocolate Haagen Dazs ice cream n.- (he's got one carton on his lap and he's eating out of it with a spoon). I was actually going to hold out until it got scanned and uploaded somewhere so I could toss in a URL, but alas, it's time to update again and the picture remains unscanned. E-mail me or somethin' and I'll send it to you. ^_^ Anyway, enough of my blathering and on with the chapterness. n.n
Standard disclaimers apply. I'm going to have to stop and be serious for a moment. I hope that no one got the idea from this story that they could treat an injured owl (or any bird of prey, for that matter) by themselves. That was not my intent at all. After all, this is a work of fiction, and circumstances are far from what they'd normally be (I mean, really, the patient is the freaking Gob King). DO NOT try to help an injured raptor yourself. I really can't stress this enough. First of all, it's illegal. Secondly, it's dangerous and you may lose a limb. Thirdly, it will die. There's really no question of this. The chances of it surviving without immediate professional help are so incredibly slim as to be nonexistent. I fell in love with owls while I was doing research for this story, and I'd hate to think that a sick or injured owl wasn't recieving the best possible care. Please, if you happen to find an injured raptor, give the poor critter a break and take it to the professionals so they can fix 'im up proper. ^_^
Right! *coughs* On with the storyness... n.n
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There will be no consolation prize
this time the bone is broken clean
no baptism, no reprise and no sweet taste of victory
All the stars have fallen from the sky
And everything else in between
Satellites have closed their eyes
The moon has gone to sleep
Unloved... unloved... unloved... unloved...
'Unloved' - Jann Arden
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Just an owl!
Jareth sat in the wardrobe, staring blankly at the back wall. He ignored everyone, including Sarah. Especially Sarah.
He felt utterly lost.
Damn it all.
Just an owl. How could he have been so blind? She didn't care about him at all. To her, he was nothing more than a wild animal she had rescued one day. She didn't know, she never had. Would she have even helped him if she had known? He doubted it now.
Just an owl.
Damn her. She'd named him Jareth on a whim. She'd made him believe that she knew it was him. And he'd completely fallen for it, like the colossal fool that he was. He'd fallen for it and he'd fallen for her. Damn him and his foolishness. She'd made him soft, held his heart in her hands and tossed it over her shoulder.
If she'd been after revenge, she'd succeeded frustratingly well. But, of course, she hadn't been. Why would she be? He was just an owl.
And to rub salt in the wound, he couldn't leave. He was locked in. All he wanted to do was get away from here. Away from her. And he couldn't. He had to stay here and let her treat him like a pet. Because that was all he was now. He wasn't a king, he had no kingdom. No powers. No way of telling her who he was. He was just an owl.
A goddamned owl.
Damn it all.
He really couldn't stand it. He wanted to break something. Wanted to yell, to curse and kick his goblins and send someone into the Bog. But of course, he couldn't, unless Sarah wished his powers back. And she wouldn't. She never would. He was just a damned owl. All he could do was sit here and rot.
He'd never felt so bloody frustrated. Not even during the years when his kingdom had been slowly dying. At least then, he'd been able to be there, to slow it's decline as much as he could. He hadn't been as utterly powerless as he was now. He didn't even know how bad it was. For all he knew, it could be gone. That was the worst thing, not knowing. And the only one who could fix it had no idea. It was hopeless, no matter how he looked at it.
He had to get out of here, before he went mad. If only she would forget to lock the door.
Jareth sighed and beat his forehead against the chicken wire. It rattled strangely, and he blinked and looked down. There, down in the corner, the wire was loose.
He hopped down to get a better look. Sure enough, one of the heavy-duty staples which held the wire to the frame hadn't quite gone in all the way. Jareth hooked his beak into the tiny space, braced his feet against the frame, and pulled. At first, all the staple did was bend. Then it came out abruptly, sending Jareth tumbling onto his back.
He scrambled to his feet and tugged at the wire. The opening it made was far too small, but it was a start. He clawed and scraped at the next staple, determined to escape now. It was more difficult to get at, but after much scratching (and a splinter in one toe), he managed to pull it out as well.
Three more staples, and he was able to squeeze through the opening. The chicken wire was bent in towards him, and some of the sharp ends sliced shallow gashes into his back and wings as he brushed past them, but he didn't care. He was free.
He glanced about the room quickly. Sarah was off somewhere with that little slime from next door, in direct disobedience to her stepmother's wishes. Leave it to her to defy everyone. She'd snuck out through her window and shimmied down the tree to avoid being caught, and she'd left the window wide open, presumably to get back in by the same route.
For once, something was going his way. His original plan for revenge was to make her grow fond of him and then leave her. Abandon her like she'd abandoned him. He'd deliberately shown as much affection towards her as possible, in the hopes that she would form one of those silly attachments that mortals tended to harbor towards animals, thus making his revenge all the sweeter. That was, until he discovered that he -wanted- her to love him, because he loved her. And it seemed that she did, before.
But that was before. Now he wanted revenge again. And there was no time like the present.
He hopped over to the bed, pulling himself up the edge of the blanket and onto the mattress. From there, all he had to do was hop onto the bedside table and climb onto the windowsill. He peered out into the night. There was no sign of anyone. All he needed to do was get onto the tree and climb down.
Jareth hesitated. The nearest branch was a good foot away. It extended off of the large, thick branch that Sarah used, and while she could reach it easily, Jareth had to settle for the smaller, less sturdy branch. He was unsure that it would support his weight. If he fell, then that was it.
Then again, if the alternative was staying here, he was willing to take the risk. He took a deep breath and jumped.
He very nearly missed. One foot grasped a cluster of leaves and he hung upside-down, while the branch bounced and sagged dangerously. Jareth grabbed on with his other foot and flapped his wings, but that only made the branch dip down lower. He stopped moving and dangled.
Not one of his better ideas, he noted. But then again, nothing had been going right for him for the last century, so he really ought to have gotten used to it by now. He shook off that depressing thought and turned his attention back to the problem at hand.
He hooked his beak onto the branch and attempted to right himself, but the tree limb jumped so wildly that he nearly lost his grip. Maybe he should move up the branch first, where it was sturdier. He started to inch over when he heard a familiar gasp from the window and turned his head to look at Sarah. When had she gotten back? Damnit, she must have gone in through the door instead.
"Jareth," She blinked in surprise. "How did you get out?"
Jareth quashed the urge to go to her and looked away, moving along the branch. He was -not- going to let her charm him again!
"Oh, no, no, don't go!" She yelped, stretching out to try and grab him. The branch was dipping too low and she couldn't reach. "Come back, sweetie..." she begged.
Jareth ignored her. He was almost there...
"Please, don't go," Sarah whispered, biting her knuckles anxiously. She was terrified that he was going to fall off, the way he was hanging upside down like that. He looked too heavy to stay like that for long. And even if he didn't, he still wasn't in any sort of shape to survive if he escaped. She felt queasy inside, worried for his safety.
Jareth got close to the main limb where she would have been able to reach him, but he eased his way along the bottom to avoid her grasp. Almost there, almost there...
"C'mon, c'mere, sweetie..." Sarah tried again. It was no use. He was out of her reach now. If she climbed out onto the branch, she'd shake him right off. She just had to hope that he made it down safely, and then take a flashlight and pray that he was still in the yard where she could find him. 'Please', she thought, 'please don't fall...'
Jareth continued to cling to the bottom of the big tree limb, inching his way to the trunk. The sound of a muffled sob reached his ears and he paused.
Hesitating was his first mistake. Looking back was his second.
Sarah was crying. She was actually crying. "Jareth, come back," she pleaded in a quivering voice. Tears shone on her cheeks in the moonlight, and Jareth felt a wave of guilt slam into him. She looked so utterly heartbroken at the idea of him leaving that his resolve melted away.
Damn her wide-eyed innocence. He sighed and pulled himself up to stand on the top half of the branch, walking over to where she could reach him. Sarah snatched him up immediately, hurrying away from the window and hugging him in relief.
"Don't ever scare me like that again!" Her bottom lip trembled. Jareth sighed and looked away. Damn him and his soft spot for her. She wouldn't say such things if she knew that it was him. She only loved him as a naive, helpless bird that needed her. He should have left long ago, before she wormed her way back into his heart. Before he needed her.
How he wished he could hate her.
Damn it all.
He felt so very lost. He'd been in this form for far too long. He had lost track of who he was. How could he expect her to know him when he couldn't even recognize himself anymore?
He'd known who he was before all this. He was Jareth, the Goblin King. Arrogant, proud, powerful. Ruler over the Labyrinth and all it's denizens. A being of magic, of mystery. Someone not to be taken lightly, nor overlooked. Someone who had survived many a hardship and found a way to come out on top, to survive and recover. Someone in control, someone who needn't rely on anyone but himself.
Or so he'd thought.
Now he was just an owl.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sarah was at a complete loss. It seemed that, no matter what she tried, her owl suddenly wanted nothing to do with her.
She really couldn't think of an explanation for it. He'd been this way ever since Alex had been teasing him. For some reason, though, Sarah felt sure that it wasn't that at all.
She'd thought that it might have been the wardrobe, but he acted just as coldly towards her when she took him out of it for awhile. He didn't appear to be sick, his wings were healing normally, and she wasn't changing his diet or treating him any differently.
It was as if he just didn't care all of a sudden. While he still tolerated her picking him up, he gave the impression that he'd rather be left alone altogether. His appetite had diminished, and he didn't seem to want to do anything, other than stare at the wall and mope.
Sarah was worried and confused. It wasn't like him at all. Something was definitely wrong with him. Was it something she might have said? She really couldn't think of anything that might have caused him to become so apathetic, unless he'd decided that he no longer liked being called 'sweetie'.
No, Sarah decided, that wasn't it either.
She found herself in the Natural Sciences section at work one afternoon, combing through the animal books. She was off for today, but she wanted to take a look anyway. There was a half dozen or so books on nocturnal birds of prey in general, and a few more focusing on barn owls in particular. She wasn't sure if they would be any help at all, but she'd run out of ideas, aside from taking him to the vet. And that was a last resort only.
She grabbed her stack of books and headed for an empty table. Taking a seat, she began flipping through the first book on the pile for something useful. She skipped the section on anatomy and turned to the part about behaviour.
Sarah read a line and frowned. According to this, barn owls hated sunlight and were strictly nocturnal. That was ridiculous. Her owl was awake during the day all the time. True, he was active mostly at night, but that didn't stop him from doing things during daylight hours as well. She shook her head and turned the page.
She was about to toss it aside and reach for the next book when she came to a section entitled 'What to do for an injured Raptor'. Curious, she started reading.
'The first thing to recognize is that the raptor will not understand that you are trying to help it. It is conditioned by instinct, training, and usually experience to look on humans as enemies, as much to be feared as the danger from which you have rescued it. Possibly, on a subconscious level, a bird of prey is aware of the difference between the hands of a friend or foe. This may or may not be true; however, what IS true is that an injured wild animal operates from the instinctual level and, on that level, it reacts out of fear. Fear and pain.'
Sarah nodded to herself. She'd learned that one first-hand.
'The second thing to assume is that the raptor will be in shock, both from the original cause of its injury or trauma, and from being handled by you. And, like with any human accident victim, shock can kill. Eliminating extra stressors and alleviating shock, therefore, are the first priorities. A bird like an owl, small falcon or hawk that seems content to sit on your arm is in shock. As nice as it is to assume it knows you are trying to help, it is far more likely to be simply hiding the fact that it is paralyzed with fear.'
Sarah rubbed the back of her neck and stretched. Most of what was here was information that she'd already learned through experience. She flipped the page and skimmed down until she found something she didn't know already.
'Before attempting to rehabilitate any owl, hawk or eagle, there are several serious considerations, those being 1) Legal Issues, and 2) Medical and Dietary Issues. Possession of any native species of bird in the United States, for any purpose, is prohibited by law unless the individual is licensed for that particular reason. Rehabilitators must be licensed by the Department of the Interior, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and any applicable state wildlife or conservation agency.'
Sarah blinked. No one had told her that it was illegal. If Karen talked to the vet, Jareth would be taken away for sure. She shook off the uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach and read on.
'In the case of caring for a bird, many routine procedures require knowledge beyond that possessed by the general public, regardless of their interest or willing. For example, injured birds are frequently suffering from shock and dehydration, as well as starvation. If they are to survive, they must immediately receive special fluid diets to reduce shock and assist in re-hydration. This requires the skill of a trained, experienced person, frequently with the assistance of a professional veterinarian. Often, bones must be set, wounds mended and antibiotics administered. As well, all raptors require special diets, particularly sick or injured ones. NEVER feed an injured bird. The dietary needs of raptors are more delicately balanced than many people realize. Even the best imaginable steak will not provide the bird with what it needs. Also, most injured birds are suffering from dehydration, and attempting to feed or water the bird may kill it, as it is probably not yet able to digest solid food or even plain water.'
Sarah flipped to the front of the book for the publication date. 1985. Fairly new. She shook her head and tossed the book aside. That last paragraph was a load of crap. They were obviously writing it straight from a vet textbook, because it had the better-safe-than-sorry tone that one heard a lot of in school. If any of it were true, her owl would be dead a million times over. She hadn't thought to find a library book at the time, and hardly anything she'd done was what this book suggested. The people who wrote this publication didn't know what they were talking about. Either it was wrong, or her owl was some sort of unnatural freak. But that was ridiculous. He was just an owl like any other.
Just to prove it to herself, she searched through the rest of the books for another one which outlined rescue methods and settled down to read it.
Sarah emerged from the library an hour later and started heading home. It was absolutely gorgeous out. The sun was just starting to set in spite of the late hour, as was typical of early June. The grass was a rich green, the sky was a stunning azure and the few whisps of clouds which dotted the sky were highlighted in oranges and pinks. The cool evening temperature was mild and refreshing. It was the sort of night meant to be spent outdoors, playing catch or lounging out on the deck with a few friends and some drinks.
Sarah didn't even notice.
How was it possible? her mind asked over and over. The remainder of the books not only supported the first, they also went into detail about -why- a certain procedure was important, or how the wrong conditions endangered the bird. They had all said the exact same thing! If they were to be believed (and Sarah had lost her doubts in light of the sheer logic of the explanations), then her owl should have been dead within days of being rescued. Perhaps hours. She'd done almost everything wrong, and yet he was recovering at a rate which, according to one book, was actually much faster than normal.
Also, according to what she'd read, barn owls were something of a unique breed. Unlike most other birds, they could not survive in the wild after living in captivity. Even attempts by professional rehabbers to introduce captive birds into the wild were often met with failure. They simply had to grow up in their natural habitat to be able to survive there at all. They relied less on instinct, and they needed to figure out how to take care of themselves as fledglings, or they'd never learn. And even then, they only had about a 20% chance of even surviving to adulthood. The idea of a tame barn owl living in the wild was nothing short of absurd.
It was true what they said; ignorance really was bliss.
She quickened her pace, mulling over this new discovery. There were simply too many inconsistencies to ignore. Something was definitely wrong with this picture, and it was nothing like what she'd expected. Not even close.
By the time she walked in the front door, she'd figured it out. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Almost. She barely acknowledged her parents as she headed up the stairs.
There was something different in the girl's pace that made Jareth curious enough to shake off his indifference and see what was wrong. She came in through the bedroom door moments later, and he was immediately aware that something had happened.
Her entire demeanor had altered drastically. Her steps were wary and uncertain. Eyes that once looked at him with such open adoration now held suspicion and a sense of betrayal. And he knew instantly. Knew, by what he saw in her eyes, that she knew. There was no mistaking the recognition, the accusation in those cold sable pools. It was painfully clear than she never would have loved him if she'd known from the start.
She walked over and stopped in front of him. For a moment, she merely stood there and looked at him.
"I know who you are," Sarah announced at last, her tone distant and unforgiving. "You're the Goblin King."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
One more thing before ya go, the information that Sarah read at the end of the chapter is mostly pieced together from excerpts gotten off of a page called 'Barn Owl Headquarters' (http://members.tripod.com/Tommy51/index.html ). Almost every sentence is re-worded ever-so-slightly to make it fit better with the story, but it's basically the same. Used without permission. (yeah, so I was lazy... it was late, I was tired, my editor was nagging me to finish the chapter and send it to her already... Sue me. n.n;; No, wait, don't sue me, don't! O.o;; *hides*) Hey, I ain't making a profit and it's education for the masses. n.-
scorbin80: Darn you and your gallons of ice cream! ^_^ My muse latched onto the mental image and made me draw a depressed-looking chibi Jareth slouched in a big stuffed easychair and surrounded by cartons and cartons of chocolate Haagen Dazs ice cream n.- (he's got one carton on his lap and he's eating out of it with a spoon). I was actually going to hold out until it got scanned and uploaded somewhere so I could toss in a URL, but alas, it's time to update again and the picture remains unscanned. E-mail me or somethin' and I'll send it to you. ^_^ Anyway, enough of my blathering and on with the chapterness. n.n
Standard disclaimers apply. I'm going to have to stop and be serious for a moment. I hope that no one got the idea from this story that they could treat an injured owl (or any bird of prey, for that matter) by themselves. That was not my intent at all. After all, this is a work of fiction, and circumstances are far from what they'd normally be (I mean, really, the patient is the freaking Gob King). DO NOT try to help an injured raptor yourself. I really can't stress this enough. First of all, it's illegal. Secondly, it's dangerous and you may lose a limb. Thirdly, it will die. There's really no question of this. The chances of it surviving without immediate professional help are so incredibly slim as to be nonexistent. I fell in love with owls while I was doing research for this story, and I'd hate to think that a sick or injured owl wasn't recieving the best possible care. Please, if you happen to find an injured raptor, give the poor critter a break and take it to the professionals so they can fix 'im up proper. ^_^
Right! *coughs* On with the storyness... n.n
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There will be no consolation prize
this time the bone is broken clean
no baptism, no reprise and no sweet taste of victory
All the stars have fallen from the sky
And everything else in between
Satellites have closed their eyes
The moon has gone to sleep
Unloved... unloved... unloved... unloved...
'Unloved' - Jann Arden
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Just an owl!
Jareth sat in the wardrobe, staring blankly at the back wall. He ignored everyone, including Sarah. Especially Sarah.
He felt utterly lost.
Damn it all.
Just an owl. How could he have been so blind? She didn't care about him at all. To her, he was nothing more than a wild animal she had rescued one day. She didn't know, she never had. Would she have even helped him if she had known? He doubted it now.
Just an owl.
Damn her. She'd named him Jareth on a whim. She'd made him believe that she knew it was him. And he'd completely fallen for it, like the colossal fool that he was. He'd fallen for it and he'd fallen for her. Damn him and his foolishness. She'd made him soft, held his heart in her hands and tossed it over her shoulder.
If she'd been after revenge, she'd succeeded frustratingly well. But, of course, she hadn't been. Why would she be? He was just an owl.
And to rub salt in the wound, he couldn't leave. He was locked in. All he wanted to do was get away from here. Away from her. And he couldn't. He had to stay here and let her treat him like a pet. Because that was all he was now. He wasn't a king, he had no kingdom. No powers. No way of telling her who he was. He was just an owl.
A goddamned owl.
Damn it all.
He really couldn't stand it. He wanted to break something. Wanted to yell, to curse and kick his goblins and send someone into the Bog. But of course, he couldn't, unless Sarah wished his powers back. And she wouldn't. She never would. He was just a damned owl. All he could do was sit here and rot.
He'd never felt so bloody frustrated. Not even during the years when his kingdom had been slowly dying. At least then, he'd been able to be there, to slow it's decline as much as he could. He hadn't been as utterly powerless as he was now. He didn't even know how bad it was. For all he knew, it could be gone. That was the worst thing, not knowing. And the only one who could fix it had no idea. It was hopeless, no matter how he looked at it.
He had to get out of here, before he went mad. If only she would forget to lock the door.
Jareth sighed and beat his forehead against the chicken wire. It rattled strangely, and he blinked and looked down. There, down in the corner, the wire was loose.
He hopped down to get a better look. Sure enough, one of the heavy-duty staples which held the wire to the frame hadn't quite gone in all the way. Jareth hooked his beak into the tiny space, braced his feet against the frame, and pulled. At first, all the staple did was bend. Then it came out abruptly, sending Jareth tumbling onto his back.
He scrambled to his feet and tugged at the wire. The opening it made was far too small, but it was a start. He clawed and scraped at the next staple, determined to escape now. It was more difficult to get at, but after much scratching (and a splinter in one toe), he managed to pull it out as well.
Three more staples, and he was able to squeeze through the opening. The chicken wire was bent in towards him, and some of the sharp ends sliced shallow gashes into his back and wings as he brushed past them, but he didn't care. He was free.
He glanced about the room quickly. Sarah was off somewhere with that little slime from next door, in direct disobedience to her stepmother's wishes. Leave it to her to defy everyone. She'd snuck out through her window and shimmied down the tree to avoid being caught, and she'd left the window wide open, presumably to get back in by the same route.
For once, something was going his way. His original plan for revenge was to make her grow fond of him and then leave her. Abandon her like she'd abandoned him. He'd deliberately shown as much affection towards her as possible, in the hopes that she would form one of those silly attachments that mortals tended to harbor towards animals, thus making his revenge all the sweeter. That was, until he discovered that he -wanted- her to love him, because he loved her. And it seemed that she did, before.
But that was before. Now he wanted revenge again. And there was no time like the present.
He hopped over to the bed, pulling himself up the edge of the blanket and onto the mattress. From there, all he had to do was hop onto the bedside table and climb onto the windowsill. He peered out into the night. There was no sign of anyone. All he needed to do was get onto the tree and climb down.
Jareth hesitated. The nearest branch was a good foot away. It extended off of the large, thick branch that Sarah used, and while she could reach it easily, Jareth had to settle for the smaller, less sturdy branch. He was unsure that it would support his weight. If he fell, then that was it.
Then again, if the alternative was staying here, he was willing to take the risk. He took a deep breath and jumped.
He very nearly missed. One foot grasped a cluster of leaves and he hung upside-down, while the branch bounced and sagged dangerously. Jareth grabbed on with his other foot and flapped his wings, but that only made the branch dip down lower. He stopped moving and dangled.
Not one of his better ideas, he noted. But then again, nothing had been going right for him for the last century, so he really ought to have gotten used to it by now. He shook off that depressing thought and turned his attention back to the problem at hand.
He hooked his beak onto the branch and attempted to right himself, but the tree limb jumped so wildly that he nearly lost his grip. Maybe he should move up the branch first, where it was sturdier. He started to inch over when he heard a familiar gasp from the window and turned his head to look at Sarah. When had she gotten back? Damnit, she must have gone in through the door instead.
"Jareth," She blinked in surprise. "How did you get out?"
Jareth quashed the urge to go to her and looked away, moving along the branch. He was -not- going to let her charm him again!
"Oh, no, no, don't go!" She yelped, stretching out to try and grab him. The branch was dipping too low and she couldn't reach. "Come back, sweetie..." she begged.
Jareth ignored her. He was almost there...
"Please, don't go," Sarah whispered, biting her knuckles anxiously. She was terrified that he was going to fall off, the way he was hanging upside down like that. He looked too heavy to stay like that for long. And even if he didn't, he still wasn't in any sort of shape to survive if he escaped. She felt queasy inside, worried for his safety.
Jareth got close to the main limb where she would have been able to reach him, but he eased his way along the bottom to avoid her grasp. Almost there, almost there...
"C'mon, c'mere, sweetie..." Sarah tried again. It was no use. He was out of her reach now. If she climbed out onto the branch, she'd shake him right off. She just had to hope that he made it down safely, and then take a flashlight and pray that he was still in the yard where she could find him. 'Please', she thought, 'please don't fall...'
Jareth continued to cling to the bottom of the big tree limb, inching his way to the trunk. The sound of a muffled sob reached his ears and he paused.
Hesitating was his first mistake. Looking back was his second.
Sarah was crying. She was actually crying. "Jareth, come back," she pleaded in a quivering voice. Tears shone on her cheeks in the moonlight, and Jareth felt a wave of guilt slam into him. She looked so utterly heartbroken at the idea of him leaving that his resolve melted away.
Damn her wide-eyed innocence. He sighed and pulled himself up to stand on the top half of the branch, walking over to where she could reach him. Sarah snatched him up immediately, hurrying away from the window and hugging him in relief.
"Don't ever scare me like that again!" Her bottom lip trembled. Jareth sighed and looked away. Damn him and his soft spot for her. She wouldn't say such things if she knew that it was him. She only loved him as a naive, helpless bird that needed her. He should have left long ago, before she wormed her way back into his heart. Before he needed her.
How he wished he could hate her.
Damn it all.
He felt so very lost. He'd been in this form for far too long. He had lost track of who he was. How could he expect her to know him when he couldn't even recognize himself anymore?
He'd known who he was before all this. He was Jareth, the Goblin King. Arrogant, proud, powerful. Ruler over the Labyrinth and all it's denizens. A being of magic, of mystery. Someone not to be taken lightly, nor overlooked. Someone who had survived many a hardship and found a way to come out on top, to survive and recover. Someone in control, someone who needn't rely on anyone but himself.
Or so he'd thought.
Now he was just an owl.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sarah was at a complete loss. It seemed that, no matter what she tried, her owl suddenly wanted nothing to do with her.
She really couldn't think of an explanation for it. He'd been this way ever since Alex had been teasing him. For some reason, though, Sarah felt sure that it wasn't that at all.
She'd thought that it might have been the wardrobe, but he acted just as coldly towards her when she took him out of it for awhile. He didn't appear to be sick, his wings were healing normally, and she wasn't changing his diet or treating him any differently.
It was as if he just didn't care all of a sudden. While he still tolerated her picking him up, he gave the impression that he'd rather be left alone altogether. His appetite had diminished, and he didn't seem to want to do anything, other than stare at the wall and mope.
Sarah was worried and confused. It wasn't like him at all. Something was definitely wrong with him. Was it something she might have said? She really couldn't think of anything that might have caused him to become so apathetic, unless he'd decided that he no longer liked being called 'sweetie'.
No, Sarah decided, that wasn't it either.
She found herself in the Natural Sciences section at work one afternoon, combing through the animal books. She was off for today, but she wanted to take a look anyway. There was a half dozen or so books on nocturnal birds of prey in general, and a few more focusing on barn owls in particular. She wasn't sure if they would be any help at all, but she'd run out of ideas, aside from taking him to the vet. And that was a last resort only.
She grabbed her stack of books and headed for an empty table. Taking a seat, she began flipping through the first book on the pile for something useful. She skipped the section on anatomy and turned to the part about behaviour.
Sarah read a line and frowned. According to this, barn owls hated sunlight and were strictly nocturnal. That was ridiculous. Her owl was awake during the day all the time. True, he was active mostly at night, but that didn't stop him from doing things during daylight hours as well. She shook her head and turned the page.
She was about to toss it aside and reach for the next book when she came to a section entitled 'What to do for an injured Raptor'. Curious, she started reading.
'The first thing to recognize is that the raptor will not understand that you are trying to help it. It is conditioned by instinct, training, and usually experience to look on humans as enemies, as much to be feared as the danger from which you have rescued it. Possibly, on a subconscious level, a bird of prey is aware of the difference between the hands of a friend or foe. This may or may not be true; however, what IS true is that an injured wild animal operates from the instinctual level and, on that level, it reacts out of fear. Fear and pain.'
Sarah nodded to herself. She'd learned that one first-hand.
'The second thing to assume is that the raptor will be in shock, both from the original cause of its injury or trauma, and from being handled by you. And, like with any human accident victim, shock can kill. Eliminating extra stressors and alleviating shock, therefore, are the first priorities. A bird like an owl, small falcon or hawk that seems content to sit on your arm is in shock. As nice as it is to assume it knows you are trying to help, it is far more likely to be simply hiding the fact that it is paralyzed with fear.'
Sarah rubbed the back of her neck and stretched. Most of what was here was information that she'd already learned through experience. She flipped the page and skimmed down until she found something she didn't know already.
'Before attempting to rehabilitate any owl, hawk or eagle, there are several serious considerations, those being 1) Legal Issues, and 2) Medical and Dietary Issues. Possession of any native species of bird in the United States, for any purpose, is prohibited by law unless the individual is licensed for that particular reason. Rehabilitators must be licensed by the Department of the Interior, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and any applicable state wildlife or conservation agency.'
Sarah blinked. No one had told her that it was illegal. If Karen talked to the vet, Jareth would be taken away for sure. She shook off the uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach and read on.
'In the case of caring for a bird, many routine procedures require knowledge beyond that possessed by the general public, regardless of their interest or willing. For example, injured birds are frequently suffering from shock and dehydration, as well as starvation. If they are to survive, they must immediately receive special fluid diets to reduce shock and assist in re-hydration. This requires the skill of a trained, experienced person, frequently with the assistance of a professional veterinarian. Often, bones must be set, wounds mended and antibiotics administered. As well, all raptors require special diets, particularly sick or injured ones. NEVER feed an injured bird. The dietary needs of raptors are more delicately balanced than many people realize. Even the best imaginable steak will not provide the bird with what it needs. Also, most injured birds are suffering from dehydration, and attempting to feed or water the bird may kill it, as it is probably not yet able to digest solid food or even plain water.'
Sarah flipped to the front of the book for the publication date. 1985. Fairly new. She shook her head and tossed the book aside. That last paragraph was a load of crap. They were obviously writing it straight from a vet textbook, because it had the better-safe-than-sorry tone that one heard a lot of in school. If any of it were true, her owl would be dead a million times over. She hadn't thought to find a library book at the time, and hardly anything she'd done was what this book suggested. The people who wrote this publication didn't know what they were talking about. Either it was wrong, or her owl was some sort of unnatural freak. But that was ridiculous. He was just an owl like any other.
Just to prove it to herself, she searched through the rest of the books for another one which outlined rescue methods and settled down to read it.
Sarah emerged from the library an hour later and started heading home. It was absolutely gorgeous out. The sun was just starting to set in spite of the late hour, as was typical of early June. The grass was a rich green, the sky was a stunning azure and the few whisps of clouds which dotted the sky were highlighted in oranges and pinks. The cool evening temperature was mild and refreshing. It was the sort of night meant to be spent outdoors, playing catch or lounging out on the deck with a few friends and some drinks.
Sarah didn't even notice.
How was it possible? her mind asked over and over. The remainder of the books not only supported the first, they also went into detail about -why- a certain procedure was important, or how the wrong conditions endangered the bird. They had all said the exact same thing! If they were to be believed (and Sarah had lost her doubts in light of the sheer logic of the explanations), then her owl should have been dead within days of being rescued. Perhaps hours. She'd done almost everything wrong, and yet he was recovering at a rate which, according to one book, was actually much faster than normal.
Also, according to what she'd read, barn owls were something of a unique breed. Unlike most other birds, they could not survive in the wild after living in captivity. Even attempts by professional rehabbers to introduce captive birds into the wild were often met with failure. They simply had to grow up in their natural habitat to be able to survive there at all. They relied less on instinct, and they needed to figure out how to take care of themselves as fledglings, or they'd never learn. And even then, they only had about a 20% chance of even surviving to adulthood. The idea of a tame barn owl living in the wild was nothing short of absurd.
It was true what they said; ignorance really was bliss.
She quickened her pace, mulling over this new discovery. There were simply too many inconsistencies to ignore. Something was definitely wrong with this picture, and it was nothing like what she'd expected. Not even close.
By the time she walked in the front door, she'd figured it out. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Almost. She barely acknowledged her parents as she headed up the stairs.
There was something different in the girl's pace that made Jareth curious enough to shake off his indifference and see what was wrong. She came in through the bedroom door moments later, and he was immediately aware that something had happened.
Her entire demeanor had altered drastically. Her steps were wary and uncertain. Eyes that once looked at him with such open adoration now held suspicion and a sense of betrayal. And he knew instantly. Knew, by what he saw in her eyes, that she knew. There was no mistaking the recognition, the accusation in those cold sable pools. It was painfully clear than she never would have loved him if she'd known from the start.
She walked over and stopped in front of him. For a moment, she merely stood there and looked at him.
"I know who you are," Sarah announced at last, her tone distant and unforgiving. "You're the Goblin King."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
One more thing before ya go, the information that Sarah read at the end of the chapter is mostly pieced together from excerpts gotten off of a page called 'Barn Owl Headquarters' (http://members.tripod.com/Tommy51/index.html ). Almost every sentence is re-worded ever-so-slightly to make it fit better with the story, but it's basically the same. Used without permission. (yeah, so I was lazy... it was late, I was tired, my editor was nagging me to finish the chapter and send it to her already... Sue me. n.n;; No, wait, don't sue me, don't! O.o;; *hides*) Hey, I ain't making a profit and it's education for the masses. n.-