Night and the owl

‘What could it bring?’ In the cold breeze of late hours, a shadowy figure thought to herself. The sun was just swallowed by the night sky, but the bloodstains of its disappearance were still painted across the indigo sky. One by one the echos of the worlds far away were lighting up in the darkening sky. A cold, thick mist was surrounding the lonely bonfire lit in the open jaws of the forest meadow. Frightening trees and their shadows were creeping closer and closer to the warmth of the fire, as the coldness of the rising moon shone on them.

The woman was still and only the light from the bonfire was dancing on her face as her eyes were penetrating deep into its warmth. Still, as the silence, she sat all alone and thought to herself of what the day will bring to her. It was a far-away mystery but she could not sleep. Waiting for something to happen she fell into the trans as the fire tried to calm her soul. Butterflies were racing through her body but they weren’t the ones after love. They were after blood. The glistening of the metal warned strangers of the horror they would face if they interfered in the thoughts of this strange woman.

‘What could it bring?’ that thought again had crossed the empty gaze, ‘What is it that I should fear? Is it them? The knights? The kings? Why should I fear such titles?’ A smirk? Yes, a smirk played on her face. ‘Those titles do not scare me, as I shall not bow before any man or woman who is foolish. Who thinks they can control me.’

“Who’s there?” A crackling voice echoed from the darkness, it was as if the fire itself had spoken. The woman looked up into the direction from where the sound came but saw nothing. Darkness was surrounding her, the fog was pressing on, ready to swallow the fire and the woman with it.

“Show yourself!” she demanded from the darkness as she clenched onto the leather handle of her dagger. Sparks were flying out of her eyes and in this moments she seemed to be more dangerous than the wildfire swallowing everything on its path. No, no, this danger was cold, reserved and calculated. Like a tiger waiting to strike, she was ready to defend herself against anything.

“Don’t you worry,” the darkness answered and from within, a crouched figure appeared. There was nothing spectacular about him but his staff. At the very top of which a brief shadow of an owl was carved in. “Don’t you worry stranger by the fire, I am not here to do you harm.” Woman’s body relaxed in the sight of the old man. His silken voice had calmed the butterflies and the flaming eyes seemed human again. “How would you want me to call you.”

“Call me Night, if you will” she answered as the elder sat opposite her and extended his old but steady hands towards the fire. “How should I call you, old man?” Night inquired.

“You may call me Sava” he answered with softness in his voice despite bare coldness and hostility of the Night.

“And what is it that you are here for at this hour?”

“I seek no trouble with you, Night. I am only here to provide wisdom.” The silken voice of Sava changed, it flew like the warm breeze in the sunny day and yet the words were cold and serious.

“What wisdom would you give me, old man?” She smirked from behind the fire.

“What is it that you are trying to achieve by fighting the knights, the kings?” As if lightning through the clear sky, Night was startled by the accuracy of the old man’s question. She remained silent and did not answer. “You say you would not bow before anyone who is foolish,” the old man was looking straight into the Night’s ocean eyes, piercing her soul, uncovering her deepest darkest secrets. “Yet it is you, who is foolish.” He continued and the silence fell between them as the fire in Night’s eyes flared up but immediately went out as she saw the wisdom of his words.

“Why is it foolish?” She still questioned.

“Would you fight fire with fire?” The man intern asked her and she lowered her head in deep shame but then lifted it up to look at the man who was speaking in front of her. She looked passed the lit fire and into the man’s eyes as if they were the reflection of her own. “It is in the stupidity of today’s world that the fires of outrage are getting bigger and bigger. They are hoping to burn out the inequality of the world without realising that they are only feeding the furnace.” The man glanced at the dagger that Night was still holding in her hands.

“But how else would anyone notice then? How could I not be the fire if I want change?” Night asked placing the dagger aside.

“Why be something that brings distraction and pain?” A smile went across the man’s face and something unique sparkled in his eyes. “Be the first drop of the thunderstorm. The first water that would bring salvation to many souls who are burning alive in the fires of their own minds.” Sava continued to smile and Night fell silent for a while.

They sat like that for a long time. In the silence that filled the air and Night thought of what he was saying. She understood the meaning of the words themselves, but not the meaning of the whole. Her raging fire was fierce inside her, demanding to be set free, to be alive, but the coolness of her ocean eyes. They drowned the fire inside her as she thought, carefully, about the words of the man. What they meant.

A hoot of an owl was heard from within the darkness of the forest. But Night did not hear it, all she heard were the words of the man before the fire. Slowly, the darkness of the night was pushed back. First by the songs of the early morning birds, and then by the streaks of warmth and resurrected sunlight. With a warm kiss of light, Night finally looked from the dying fire in front of her, onto the place where a man once sat but all she saw was nothingness. An empty space.

‘Sava?’ She called out in her mind for a man that had disappeared like the darkness of the night before the rising sun.

Behind the log, Night found the very staff that Sava was leaning on as he walked out of the darkness hours ago. In the morning light, the staff presented a beautifully and skilfully carved out owl. The kind of skill that would require many patient hours of training. ‘Just as patient as the stream cutting away the stones on its way turning them to sand.’

“It is not the fiery words but the flow of action that shall calm the world’s soul.” A voice echoed from the forest line and a grey big owl flew over Night. “I give you this staff and the owl’s wisdom, as I find you worthy of it.” And with those last words, the barn owl disappeared into the darkness of the forest once again to never be seen again.

It’s wisdom however took seed inside Night’s mind as she set her eyes onto the glistening in the early fire roofs of the nearby city, carrying the owl’s staff in her hands into the blazing city. Old tales speak of her as the night of artists. Ever since she arrived into the burning city, it flooded the streets with the unheard voices.