Hardclaw Hootington knew that life went on. Few owls were worthy of becoming a Wiccan's familiar; none received a second chance of regaining their lost post, not even ones with capabilities as great as his own.

Hardclaw lifted his good eye and watched as the two mail owls soared through the dusk — wings sweeping effortlessly over gusts of cold air — tightly clutching parcels and letters in their talons. At times like these, Hardclaw longed for his past life: one of service to his wizard master. Then, he remembered the man's cruelty and how quickly he'd cast him aside after his injury and the wish to serve mankind disappeared. Hardclaw hated humans. His injured eye pulled over by darkened, crusty red blood was a daily reminder of misguided trust towards their lot.

Hardclaw spread his wings, letting the autumn wind whisper between his feathers. Giving one final tu-whit tu-whoo , he leapt from the branch. There were other things to be thankful for: his mate Hedwina, his warm nest and the six eggs inside.

Hedwina was right; this night was odd, but that didn't mean it was a poor one for hunting. The full moon glared sternly over the tips of leaves and branches, illuminating everything the tree shadows did not touch to a remarkable degree.

Hardclaw's good eye, the one crystalline orb, sparkled as he scavenged. No mice or rats would do for tonight's supper, not when their eggs were to hatch and Hedwina would be too overcome with motherhood to feed herself properly. Hardclaw needed a meal: big and nourishing. Besides, Hardclaw wanted to treat her to something special. It wasn't every day he should become a father to such a brood. Hardclaw himself had come from a clutch of three. How exciting would it be to fly home to six chirping mouths, to teach them to fly for the first time, to take them to every corner of the world he had ever been to? So, it was pertinent that he made a special offering to Hedwina to thank her for the gift of a family.

At first, Hardclaw considered flying to the clearing where the humans built their boxy nests of stones and flat, hard leaves. There, the humans left food on their doorsteps: milk and meats and other tasty surprises. But the clearing was far and— he disliked admitting it—Hedwina was right; the night did rub his feathers the wrong way. He would have to make do with what he could scavenge close to their nest. Perhaps there would be a juicy shrew stirring in the undergrowth or a bat that had lost its way.

Hardclaw heard his supper before he saw it: a rustling on the floor among the briar bushes. He swooped down to see what looked like a fresh ham—wrapped in cloth— waiting for no one in particular.

Oh, how Hardclaw's beak snapped at the taste of a fine scrumptious ham. In a past life, he had eaten the treat from the hands of his master— the one good memory of being owned. Hardclaw imagined his dear Hedwina would be delighted to try ham as well. She was raised in the wild and unfamiliar with the food of humans. Hardclaw swept down—his talons glimmering in the light— and sunk them into cloth. He made sure he did not cut through the ham with his sharp talons, in fear of spilling some of the juices inside.

Off through the shrubs and bushes, Hardclaw flew. His dear Hedwina would be pleased when she saw just what he had brought home to eat.

When out of the horizons, larks and tits exploded from the trees and an awful-sounding ruckus arose. Hardclaw flew faster— his heart racing in his ribcage—dropped the ham on the land and swept down.

There, in his nest roosted Evil incarnated and below him was Hedwina—held pressed against the cold earth and whimpering for release. Hardclaw, sharp talons at the ready, surged for the beast— slashing at its body. The giant owl released its talons for an instant freeing Hedwina and perched on a branch. There were greater enemies for him than a mother. Hardclaw was not to be let down so easily. Now with the light of the moon on his side, he got a good look at the assailant.

Evil went by many names: Tyrant Owl, Rule-breaker, Flesh-Eater, but Hardclaw knew his True Moniker and he hooted it so loudly, the trees shook in terror and the stars began to dwindle from the skies.

"Huthyr!"

The giant owl's eyes pulled into a wicked gaze. Yes, Hardclaw had remembered him. Huthyr was massive, twice as big as Hardclaw himself. His eyes were redder than the blood dripping from his beak; his morals looser than the limbs of Hardclaw's owlets that crunched under his talons on the cold forest floor.

Huthyr's gaze drank Hardclaw in slowly, but Hardclaw did not break contact. He feared if he twitched his eye, the beast would rip his own throat out and scatter his feathers about the growth.

"Hardclaw. We meet again," Huthyr rumbled in a hoot low and deep.

"Fiend! You'll pay for this- for them." Hardclaw tried not to look at the blood—tried not to think of his owlets as hopped up to the branch. Huthyr teased him, climbing higher and higher up the oak tree, taunting him like a cat taunts a mouse it's about to eat.

"I told you I'd be back," Huthyr cooed quietly. "I keep my word."

"Why?" Hardclaw's body shook. "You could have taken me on alone. I'm the one you wanted revenge against. Instead you-" killed my owlets "-you really are a monster. You have no respect for the Law of the Forest. Taking out one of your own kind— innocent younglings. The Flock was right to banish you."

"I don't need the Flock. I needed you. Have you forgotten? It was us against the world. We were brothers."

"You were never a brother of mine," Hardclaw screeched.

"You abandoned me that night," Huthyr cawed.

"I lost my eye that night. I lost my master-"

"-and I lost everything! Everyone I'd ever loved because you—coward, left me," Huthyr cawed, eyes red and glowing. "Now you will know what I felt, watching my mate's body torn apart by wolves in the dead of night."

Suddenly, Hedwina's shadow charged behind Huthyr, knocking him on the back of his head. Hardclaw didn't need explanations or apologies. Burning with rage, he joined his mate, attacking the giant owl from all angles. Flash and swoop, Hardclaw slashed the eye of the beast and Huthyr hissed and howled into the night, falling from the branch. Hedwina and Hardclaw searched for his body in the grasses, but Huthyr was gone.

"Hedwina, you are alright?" hooted Hardclaw. His mate's eyes were large and wet. Together, they flew and overturned the nest. There, eggshells and feathers and bits of small and wet flesh lay in the muddled grasses. Hardclaw didn't want to give a name to the scraps. Hiding his mate's head under his wing, he listened to her wails reverberate against his body.

Then, Hedwina swatted him away. "There must be one, there must be," she repeated deliriously and began to pace about the ground, spreading apart the grasses.

"There's nothing-"

"-There can't be!" She scowled. "There just can't!"

As though summoned by Hedwina's hoots, Hardclaw saw a flash of movement under the roots of the giant oak. There, deep inside a bush lay a half-opened egg and inside it, a baby owlet.

"He's alive," Hedwina hooted, ushering the little one out. Instantly, she began preening the owlet of all sorts of bits and bobs until his down was fluffy and his eyes squinted at him in the moonlight. "Oh Hardclaw, do you see it… do you see him?"

"Our son-"

"-Hedwig. We will name him Hedwig," Hedwina cooed. "And we will build a nest better than before to raise him."

Hardclaw heard another cry, one that was unfamiliar and loud. Another owlet had survived.

"Hedwina," he chirped, pacing about, his stirring catching his mate's attention.

But where? The noise was coming from high above. He looked to the branch above him and remembered the ham. There it hung, a white cloth, now swinging back and forth on the branch. He swept up and heard the sound grow louder with each approaching second. The ham was crying. Hardclaw, who could not imagine how that was possible, carried the quivering thing down.

"Who-who is it?" Hedwina hooted curiously, hiding Hedwig under her wing.

Hardclaw unwrapped the parcel and there in the middle lay no ham. He peered at the fleshy, pale creature as big as himself, squirming and moving its limbs around. Hedwina peered too, inching over with Hedwig still close to her. Her rostrum bore a look as old as nature itself: so soft and concerned—a mother instantly imprinting herself on the helpless, whimpering being. Gently, she tapped his nose with her beak, calming the little thing.

Hardclaw was not so quick to be concerned. He knew instantly what type of creature it was — who its parents were, how much pain the humans had once caused him— but still jabbed it with his foot and schooled his expression into one of utter ignorance. Not as much pain as Huthyr had caused him that night, but a pain nonetheless.

"One large…naked…white…mole," Hardclaw hooted only to be knocked square in the beak by the 'mole's' bare foot. "Tailless and small-eared, but very strong. Best to let it find its way underground—"

"No. A human owlet," Hedwina cooed breathlessly, her eyes agape with wonder—picked at the cloth. "That must be his softened shell."

She had found one owlet and now was about to adopt another, no matter its origin.

"The humans call it a baby," Hardclaw hooted, looking with displeasure at the thing.

"Bay-bee . Hello baby," Hedwina petted her wing ever so gently over the baby's head. "And what of its down? It's so…so long and thin and only on its head. He must be very cold."

"That's hair."

"Ooh. A hair-ee baby," Hedwina cooed. "He will have little talons too, I'm sure. Imagine that! Four legs and four sets of talons!

"Human babies do not have talons," Hardclaw hooted haughtily. His expression hardened. "We leave him here," he hooted decisively and began to waddle away.

"-for the fox's feast?" Hedwina screeched in shock.

"Silly mate. Foxes don't feast on humans." Hardclaw hooted, but he wasn't so sure. He'd seen the way foxes looked when they hunted, bloodthirsty and unforgiving.

"A scar. Huthyr must have-" Hedwina's voice broke off as she traced the scar on the baby's head with her talon. Hardclaw had not noticed it before, but sure as the dawn and the squeak of a field mouse, it existed: etched on the child's forehead.

"Not Huthyr."

The mark was sharp and jagged, but not one given by any owl of this earth. Hardclaw had never seen anything so precise, so straight— come to think of it, it was not of owl origin at all. Only humans could be capable of such precision. But why would one of the little human's own kind hurt him?

Hardclaw ruffled his feathers and peered at the baby's forehead. The scratch was still fresh and the blood beneath the crust glimmered—not as old as Hardclaw's scar, but one that appeared deeply ingrained in the baby's skin and would surely stay there for a long time.

Hardclaw ran his own talon over the pathway of blood and crusted skin and shivered. Magic — he remembered its feel well from his days as a mail owl— the enchantment so dark, and yet, darker than any he'd come in contact with, flowed through the baby's forehead. Someone wanted the baby's death. Hardclaw told Hedwina of his theory, her wing coming to cover her beak.

"Poor thing. We must keep him then-"

"-the Flock will never allow us to. It is a human."

"He is a child." Hedwina's eyes glimmered assuredly— instantly met with Harclaw's own fierce gaze.

"A human child."

The cruellest animals nature had borne. With human babies come adult humans and their fires and their branches that shoot pellets at you. Their spells which bind and kill with a single flash of light. Their cruelty and anger. Hardclaw kept his beak closed as Hedwina fumed, Hedwig shivering under her wing.

What if the humans come for Hedwig next? What if they come for Hedwina?

"Human," Hedwina hooted finally. "Maybe that's the problem."

"It's always the problem. They're the problem." Hardclaw could see it now. The humans, perhaps those as cruel as his owl master, coming back to finish the business they had begun. Now, his own family would come under their scrutiny. "The humans always act like this, the lot of them. Only think of their own gains-"

"No two owls are the same Hardclaw, or have you let your past blind you-" Hedwina hooted, then caught herself. This had always been a delicate subject for Hardclaw. Hedwig chirped beside her in the blanket of silence between them until Hedwina turned to the human baby. "Look at him. He's just a wee thing with no family to look after him. Could we not give him a chance?"

"Someone else could," Hardclaw chirped softly, avoiding her gaze.

"For me?"

"One night." Hardclaw clicked his beak. "It's best we hide it until its humans find it by day."

He began to pick twigs and leaves to toss on the baby. Perhaps by morning its humans would return and pick it up. They had to, for who leaves a baby in the wild?

Hardclaw felt his mate's gaze boring into his back. He worked quickly. He covered the baby in twigs and leaves, making a little makeshift teepee for it to sleep under. The baby tossed and turned, making all sorts of sounds, breaking the hurriedly crafted hiding spot. Finally, Hardclaw grumbled and tossed his wings down.

"What if his humans are not coming?" Hedwina cooed sadly.

"Don't be ridiculous." Hardclaw wondered if the words were for Hedwina or himself as he gazed into the night wood. Nothing but the silent rustle of leaves and grasses, the nocturnal song of the bugs and beetles filling the space. Humans came in groups with lights and the sounds of stomping boots. Hardclaw trained himself to hear their approach— he couldn't be certain they were coming tonight.

Hardclaw's resolve had been made, but looking at the gurgling baby, slowly began to dissolve. It was rather off the child was left all alone in the woods. Humans never left one of their own behind willingly. Perhaps Hedwina was right, yet again.

"Let's take him to where you found him," his mate suggested. So it was settled. With Hedwig carried in Hedwina's talons, and the human baby in Hardclaw's beak, the owls flew back to the spot where Hardclaw first discovered the baby. As they flew, the owls tried not to look at the remnants of their nest, and their younglings, scattered about the woods.

Settling down for the night, Hedwina brought both of the littles beside her.

"I will stay on a branch and watch for the humans," Hardclaw murmured. "But only because you are so worried."

But Hardclaw was also worried, even though he never admitted to it. He did not want the baby to be taken apart by the foxes and clawed at by the eagle. The human baby had no talons or teeth or spikes. It wouldn't stand much of a chance.

So it was settled. Hedwina picked up Hedwig and they settled beside the baby. She had Hedwig under one wing and the baby's giant head -under the other. She waited until both dozed off into a slumber. Above her, Hardclaw perched on a branch and watched over his odd little family.

"I think they're both asleep," Hedwina cooed softly, gazing starry-eyed at both of the small ones. "I wonder if Hairy will get his beak in soon, like Hedwig. Otherwise, it would be hard to feed him."

"Who-who is Hairy?" Hardclaw grumbled.

"Why— the baby!"

"What?"

"I thought because he was so hairy, that should be his name."

Hardclaw hooted tersely. "If you name it, you'll get attached."

"Hairy," Hedwina cooed. "Hairy Hootington, our Owl-Son."

Not mine, Hardclaw muttered. A small voice in the back of his head hooted, not mine...yet.

Hairy lay with little Hedwig curled up in his embrace. The human owlet's little sighs melded with Hedwig's hoots and he scrunched his feet under the cloth. He was far too large for Hedwina to warm both him and Hedwig at once.

Not being able to bear it any longer, Hardclaw swept down from his branch and settled on the baby's body, covering his legs with his own feathers. It had been so long since Hardclaw was so close to a human— Hairy smelled of dandelion milk and dried grass and his baby heartbeat was steady against the owl's body.

Hardclaw looked at Hairy's face, his pink beak—lips pursing, as though searching for food. Hardclaw was not sure what kind of insects babies ate—if bats or mice would be to his liking. He could find a variety of foods to feed him and find out. Then there was the question of building a bigger nest, and how the baby would travel up North with the Flock during the winter months or perhaps the Hootingtons would have to stay right here until Hairy had grown up. That might take a long time; human babies matured very slowly.

"He's growing on you," Hedwina cooed. Hardclaw wondered how long she'd been watching him watching Hairy. He thought for a moment before answering.

"I don't dislike him." Hedwina gave Hardclaw a knowing look, and he whistled. "I might like…Hairy…a little bit."

"A little bit is more than enough." Hedwina nuzzled herself to Hardclaw, gently tapping her beak against his.

By dawn, the humans had not come back for Hairy. By dawn, Hardclaw too had changed and he did not look so disappointed when their bodies did not emerge from the shrubs. Hardclaw knew that between the four of them, there was enough of the warm and fuzzy stirring within his breast to last a long time. Hairy was not his owlet, and he'd never replace his owlets lost to Huthyr, but he was enough for him and Hedwina— more than that. With the light of the sun, Hardclaw stirred and began to gather twigs to build a new nest, wide enough for an owlet and a baby.