Ignacio Casaretto

An Owl Pact

The time had come. Tytus could feel in the gut. He could feel it in the way the dead leaves rustled in the night, or in the constant clanking of wood in the barn’s shed, or in the nervous bleating of the stupid goats that lived beneath. Tytus took his favorite place at the peak of the cupola and awaited his friend… if you could call him like that.